Adaptive Radiation
by the morrighan
Summary: There are things beneath the surface that are best left undisturbed.
1. Chapter 1

Adaptive Radiation

Blue.

Moira O'Meara stared at the dark blue color encompassing her field of vision. Realized with a start it was John Sheppard's t-shirt. She was nestled up against his back as he slept. Pressed close to the lean, muscled contours of his body. She drew back a little, a little to see the line of his body as he rested on his side turned away from her. The shirt had ridden up to give her a teasing view of his lower back. The blue sweat pants had slid down some to give her a tantalizing view of his rear. She smirked, seeing he lacked boxers. Smirked at the sheer novelty of waking up fully clothed next to him.

"John?" She nudged him. Nudged his shoulder again. He muttered, shifted. Did not awaken.

She glanced to the sunlight slowly filling the room. Pale yellow rays crossing the floor, approaching the bed as if hesitant to disturb them. She sighed. Slid out of the bed and found her shoes. Quietly left before he could notice.

Quickly she strode to her room. Trying to ignore the marines who were walking the halls. Trying to ignore the curious stares, the speculative glances. She reached her room and paused, staring round, relaxing. But tension still fluttered as she wondered about the debrief.

**************************************************************************

John stirred, rolled. Reached. Empty blankets met his hand. He opened his eyes, squinted at the bright sunshine infiltrating his room. He yawned, sat. "Moira?" He frowned. Annoyed at the novelty of having her in his bed and not having sex of any kind. Of having her not even close to being naked. He sighed, swore, glanced at the clock. Realized the debrief would be starting soon. He scrambled out of the bed and into the shower.

In the cafeteria he filled his tray, ravenous. Glanced over to see Moira sitting with Carson Beckett. Their quiet conversation. Her expression solemn. Curious he neared with quick strides. Joined them and sat next to her, scooting her against the wall. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing, John. Good morning," Carson smoothly answered. Smiled. "I'm glad to see that both of you are recovered now. Being weak from trauma and lack of nourishment really did a number on the pair of you." He looked at Moira who was sipping her juice, gaze on the empty space across from her.

"You called me an idiot, I remember that," John noted. Began to eat.

"Aye, that I did, and Moira too."

"Moira?" He glanced at her.

She shrugged. Picked at the vestiges of pancake on her plate. Fork dripping with syrup.

"Aye." Carson looked from one to the other. "How does your wrist feel, John?"

John glanced at it. The heavy white bandage encircling it. "Fine. Just a little sore sometimes."

"Be careful with it. Now...what's wrong?"

"Huh? I just asked you that?" John retorted. Frowned.

"Nothing," Moira answered, finally speaking at last. "It's been traumatic, like you said, Carson. That's all. Actually I wanted to thank you. We, we weren't thinking clearly. Your inestimable advice and counsel cleared our heads, I think. Oh! You were going to start charging for these therapy sessions, weren't you?" she asked to lighten the mood. Could feel John's eyes on her, assessing.

"Don't remind him, Moira," John chastised. They laughed quietly.

"Consider this a freebie, after what you've both been through. And for calling both of you idiots. After this, though, I will start charging a fee. Hmm...a pint of Guinness and a fine haggis will be acceptable."

"Ugh!" Moira exclaimed, setting down her fork. "Carson! Really?"

"What's haggis?" asked John round a mouthful of food.

She glanced at him. "You don't want to know. Especially when you are eating. Trust me."

Carson laughed. "A Scottish delicacy. Really, Moira, I expected better." He stood. "The debrief is in ten minutes. Eat quick."

"I don't think I can now," she quipped, making a face.

"That bad?" John asked.

"Yes." She finished her juice, glanced at him. He was watching her as she ate. Gaze roving over her lilac shirt and brown pants. Over the ubiquitous ponytail trapping her hair. "What?"

He shrugged. Kept silent, eyes on his meal now. As her gaze wandered over his black t-shirt, blue pants. The motions of his jaw as he chewed. The motion of his tongue as he licked his lips. His long swallows as he drank his coffee, then some water. He glanced at her again. "What?" he echoed. They smiled briefly. "Ah."

"Ah? And what is that supposed to mean, colonel?" she asked, tilting her head to tease, to flirt.

He smiled. Set down the glass of water. "You know what it means. I agree."

"Agree? Agree to what? Agree with what? I thought you didn't know what haggis is."

"Huh? No, not the haggis. Last night."

"We didn't have haggis last night."

"Hilarious, Moira. Very cute. I meant the lack of sex. I found it disturbing too. Almost criminal. The quiet was almost eerie."

"Shut up, John!" She elbowed him as he laughed. She stood. "The meeting."

"What? Isn't that bothering you too? Because, baby, the way you are looking at me I can tell right away that you want–"

"To go to the meeting, flyboy, so finish your breakfast and don't be late!" She sighed at his grin.

"Shut up, John."

"I didn't say anything, Moira." He watched her leave. "Hey, could you walk a little faster?" he called. She ignored him. He smirked, quickly finished his meal.

************************************************************************

The conference room was full. Moira paused on the threshold, suddenly uncomfortable. The only memories of the failsafe, of the planet she could recall were sexual ones. The double moonlight pouring upon them in silver splendor. She felt a blush rising. Felt a hand on her lower back suddenly and nearly whirled.

"In," John urged, ushering her across the threshold. Amused at her uncertainty.

Moira stared round. Elizabeth Weir was eying a screen but looked up at their approach. Rodney McKay was munching on a doughnut. Sprinkles littered the desk but he seemed oblivious. Evan Lorne was not and with an annoyed expression brushed the multi-colored decorations back towards the scientist. She took a seat far down the table, close to the door. Swallowed nervously.

John ignored the empty chair near the head of the table where he usually sat. He took the empty seat next to Moira's. Lounged back, hands on his lap.

"All right," Elizabeth began. "This all started with the discovery of the gunnery station."

"Yes, ma'am," Evan agreed. "We still don't know why or how it was activated. When we found it the thing was inert. Initially. As if sensing the Jumper though it came to life and fired upon the ship. We were able to finally shut it down but it was difficult."

"Conclusions?" Elizabeth asked.

"The weapon was part of an automated defense system," John succinctly explained. "Originally there were four separate stations spread along the mainland at strategic points. Not only to cover the city but the whole planet from aerial attack. We traced the source of the power base to the cave in grid eight."

"Rodney?"

"The cave wasn't the central hub," Rodney continued, setting down the last of his doughnut, "but the power source for that particular gun only. There was an automated defense in the cave...a sort of, of..." he snapped his fingers. "What did you call it, Moira?"

"A...a Probot 'droid," she said softly, uncomfortable. Ignored the smiles.

"Yes...some limited AI defense, a machine with a high impact energy beam. Once past that we reached the main operating console, the hub, if you will. The whole system was based on echolocation, sonic pulses. Like the bats, right, Moira?"

"Yes, Rodney," she agreed, wondering why he kept trying to include her.

"Yes. We discovered the auditory disruption wave at the same time," he continued. "The power from the gun was looping back to the console's systems, creating a dangerous situation."

"Which you couldn't control," John reminded, gaining a scowl from the scientist. "Which I couldn't control either," he admitted. "But we did manage to triangulate the three remaining gunnery positions to locate the approximate location of the ZPM."

"We searched grid eight. Radek's scans produced nothing," Evan informed.

"Nothing? It's true we didn't pinpoint the exact location but we got a pretty good idea of where it could be found," John argued.

"Nothing, sir," Evan repeated. "No energy readings. No unusual geological formations. No caves."

"Moira," Rodney eyed her, "you can look for any biological anomalies! Like you noted at the cave. Maybe that will lead us there...like the bats. And with my superior scans we will be certain to locate the ZPM."

"I...I doubt it would..." she began, trying not to squirm in her chair. Glanced at the doorway as if to escape.

"That's a good idea, Rodney. We'll look into it later," John smoothly rode over her hesitation. "I still can't believe the ZPM wasn't there. It was powering the system, obviously."

"How could a biological anomaly lead you to a–" Evan asked, puzzled.

"The bats! The echolocation–" Rodney began to explain.

"What happened when the power overloaded the systems?" Elizabeth interjected.

John glanced at Moira. She was staring at her hands. "I tried to control it, contain it but the AI was too strong. The next thing I knew the whole console erupted. Blew apart." He shoved aside Moira's sacrifice to save him. Her seemingly dying under him. The pain slicing into his back. "We got hit. We woke up in this weird...cell, I guess. It was a virtual reality thing while the failsafe healed us."

"I saw them both bloody, dead," Rodney added. Voice quiet. "Then a light, a glow...then they were gone. Moira ran in front of John to save him when the machine blew apart and collapsed."

"Anyway," John tersely continued as all eyes fell upon Moira, "this failsafe was installed in case the ATA gene carriers tampered with the automated defenses. We were transported to another planet to be healed. A safe haven. There was only one program left running, a holographic image of an Ancient who had ascended. As I said before it took some convincing to get us back here. She didn't believe the city was safe. Alive again."

"And it made you believe you had returned the first time?" Elizabeth asked.

"Yes. Probably because it didn't think it could return us in reality. And we didn't want to ascend. So it pulled the simulation from our minds. Well, from my mind, mostly. Luckily Moira was suspicious and saw through it to return us back to our bodies." He glossed over the violent cutting of her arm, the blood. Yet another death that wasn't. "And we were finally able to convince it to let us use the Stargate."

"Why would the AI be so virulent towards the ATA carriers? That doesn't make sense," Evan wondered. Shaking his head.

"It bothers me too," Rodney agreed. "I can't figure it out. Unless it was to prevent any traitors from tampering with the device. They built a failsafe just in case someone was strong enough to control it. To tamper with it."

"Back up. Moira, how did you know the first reality wasn't real?"

Moira shrugged, met Elizabeth's questioning gaze. "It...it just felt...off. Somehow. And there was a glitch in the programming. Carson talked about the programming as a she...before we had told him or anyone."

"And you broke out by cutting your arm?"

"By slitting my wrist," she clarified. Briefly touched her unmarked skin as phantom pain echoed. "Only a violent, jarring act would shock us out of the illusion."

"She's right," Rodney concurred. "A virtual program that strong would require an equally strong way to break the simulation."

"Like how they say if you dream you die it will shock you out of a nightmare, because you wouldn't die in reality," Evan ventured.

"And why were you on the mainland when John and Rodney were locating the source of the gun's power?"

"I..." Moira faltered. "I brought them–"

"Tools," John supplied. "Some tools we needed," he smoothly interjected. "I asked her to bring us an additional scanner, since she was coming to the mainland anyway to continue her own studies into the biology of the region." He glanced at Rodney, tilted his head.

"And I asked her to bring some cookies because I was hungry," the scientist added. "You know how my blood sugar level can drop if I don't have enough of–"

"Yes. Continue studying the data you've recovered. I want teams to investigate each remaining outpost on the mainland so this doesn't happen again. We'll renew our search in grid eight for the main control and power source." At Elizabeth's tone all rose, made to leave. "John, a moment, please."

John exchanged a glance with Moira. She briefly, so briefly touched his shoulder as he retook his seat. A furtive caress. John watched his friends depart. Their footsteps echoing down the stairs. He lounged back in his chair. "If you ask me this ATA gene is more trouble than its worth. Sure it can power up systems and all that, but half of the time it becomes a detriment. What were the Ancients thinking anyway? I mean by this failsafe system. This technology which was built by them but resistant to them actually using it?"

"I don't know, John. They must have had a good reason. From what I've heard about those virtual realities...that explains your wrist?" Her gaze was on the bandage.

"My..." He glanced at it. "Yeah. We had to be sure. Especially since a lot of the same exact words were spoken, like the first time. That was just...weird."

"You cut your own wrist, John! You can't reason that away!"

"I had to, Elizabeth," he answered. Sat straighter in the chair. "I wasn't going to let Moira cut herself again. She already did it once and I...I did not want to see that again." He glanced uneasily across the room. "Besides, I was pretty sure this was real. The real Atlantis. And I know how to cut a wrist without causing permanent damage or–"

"Death? You could have bled to death, John!" she fumed, glaring. "You were suffering from lack of food! Dehydration! Recovering from a serious injury that Rodney swears killed you! I can't have my military commander needlessly risking his life to–"

"That's hilarious," John acerbically commented. "What do I do every day? Every week? Every mission?"

"In the line of duty, yes, not in a reckless manner just to prove a point to a–"

"It wasn't reckless. I told you, I knew what I was doing," he argued. Glanced out of the office. Saw Moira below, hovering about, staring up. He made a shooing motion with his hand. Turned back to meet Elizabeth's frosty glare. "I did it for myself as much as for her. We had to be sure."

Elizabeth stood. Palms on the table as if to calm herself. She took a deep breath, released it. "That's the point, John. It was a judgment call. I'm sorry, but I can't afford to have you taking unnecessary risks like that! No. It was stupid. Senseless. At the very least we could have convinced Moira without you resorting to violence."

John stared. Stood. Gaze narrowing. "Are you saying that I should have let her do it. Again?" he asked, voice low. Words coming slowly. Disbelief.

"Yes," Elizabeth answered. "I'm sorry, John, but you know as well as I do that sometimes we have to make decisions based on purely rational, logical factors. Not emotional ones."

"You...you don't understand," John replied, angered and thrown by her words. Her argument. Uncomfortable with her obvious observations. "The first time...the first time here when we thought we were here...I thought we were back. If not for Moira we'd still be there, trapped on that planet. Trapped in our minds in that unreal Atlantis! I wasn't going to let her slice her own wrist again to prove if this time it was real!"

"Exactly my point, John! You felt you had to do it yourself! So you recklessly risked your life when you didn't even need to do so! Anyone else you would have allowed us to convince them, to use reason, time, therapy, whatever it took. But not since it was Moira. You weren't thinking straight and carelessly endangered your own–"

"It wasn't carelessly!" he argued. "I knew exactly what I was doing, unlike her! Don't blame Moira for any of this! There's no harm done, Elizabeth. None."

"Oh, I think there is, John. I need to be able to rely on you to make these kinds of judgment calls in the field, or on a mission. I'm sorry but you have to realize how things work out here. How, and I hate to say this, but how some personnel are more necessary to this city than others. You know it," she insisted to his glower, "and I know it. If we lose some key personnel the city will in all likelihood fall. It's ugly but it's the truth."

"Are you saying that some lives are more important than others?" he asked.

"No. Not more important. But more essential to the running of this city. To our very livelihoods. Then yes. You know it, too, John. I know you do. Most of the time. This...incident, however, makes me wonder if you truly realize the necessity for those kinds of decisions."

John was silent. Realized the truth of her words but was fuming anyway. His body tense. Hands tempted to curl into fists but he kept them open at his sides. "If you're done I have work to do."

She nodded. "I'm done. Just think about what I've said, John. You know it's true."

"Oh, don't worry," he assured, voice low, angry, "I'll think all about it," he assured as he stiffly walked out of the room.


	2. Chapter 2

Adaptive Radiation2

Moira sat in the biology lab. A data screen blinked in front of her. Information scrolling across it. Results of an autopsy on one of the dead bats retrieved from the collapsed cave. She ignored it. Sat staring at her wrist. Ran her fingers over the delicate skin. Unmarked by the steak knife she had used in that virtual reality. Uncut except in her memory. The blood gushing. Spurts of scarlet pooling. John's horror. Anguish. His later anger when they had awoken on the bed, in the reality of the failsafe.

She tried to block the memory of how he had cut his own wrist. To prove that they were back in Atlantis, safe at last. The blade ripping into his skin, his flesh as the knife bit deeply. More deeply than he had intended. The blood. The way he had fallen to the floor.

"Moira."

She whirled at his voice, dropping her hand from her arm. He was lounging in the doorway. Beckoned with one hand. Serious expression on his handsome face. Anger brimming to the surface. His green eyes glittering with it. Every line of his body exuding it. She closed the data screen. Moved to him. He stepped aside to let her out of the room. She stared. Saw the case of beer in his other hand. "John? It was that, that bad? What did Doctor Weir say? Did she blame you, John, for, for your wrist? What did she–"

"Come with me, Moira. Please." He began to walk down the hall. She followed quickly.

"John? What is it? What did she say?"

"Pardon my language, Moira, but we need to get drunk. Shit-faced drunk."

"I...you...what?" She tried to lighten his mood. "Should I get the others? We could have another sing-along."

He smiled briefly. "No. Just us this time."

"Look, John, maybe you need to get shit-faced drunk but I don't. Talk to me. What did she say? It's bad, isn't it? John? Do you want me to talk to her? It's all my fault, after all. Your wrist."

"No. Come with me now. We'll talk privately."

She caught his free hand as it swung at his side. "All right, sweetie. Come to my room, then. It's private. Damn, John, this won't help. If she sees me getting you drunk again...and the bite on your lip...your wrist...the–"

"No. I'm getting myself drunk. And you with me. Shit-faced drunk. And I bit my own lip," he corrected.

Moira sighed. Led him into her room. She closed the door. Turned to watch him sit on the bed. Grab a beer from the case he set on the floor. Open it. Chug down half the contents. He opened another. Held it out. "I don't–"

"Drink," he ordered.

She sighed again. Took it as he finished his first one. Grabbed a second. She sipped some, grimaced at the taste. "What did she say, John? Please tell me. I'll go talk to her. Take the blame, the flak. Make it right. John?"

"No. You'll do nothing. Hey...weren't you only to say yes, John?" He eyed her. "And oh John. Oh John, oh John," he mimicked with a smile. "God I love that, Moira! I love bringing you. Hearing you come like that. You never said it like that with your few, few men, did you?"

"No, John," she replied, wondering at the change in subject. Worrying. Watching him drink half of the second bottle.

"Drink," he instructed. "We need to get plastered." He watched her sip some more. Long swallows to hasten the process. She made a face. "Better." He gestured with the bottle. "I bet all of your few, few men were fucking scientists, weren't they?"

"Yes, John," she answered, deciding to humor him.

"Drink." He waited. She sipped. He continued, "Of course they were. All analytical, all logical. Cold as fucking fish. No imagination. No adventurous sex. No passion. I've brought you in more ways than they ever did. Ever could. Am I right?"

"Yes, John." He drank, finished the bottle. Grabbed a third. "John, are you angry with me?"

"No. Not with you, sweetheart."

"I mean you should be. I pushed you into that rash act by my earlier hysterics. I'm sorry. I'll go tell Weir the–"

"Hell, no! You won't do or say anything!" He drank. Licked his lips. "I want to go back, Moira. To that planet. To make love with you in that double moonlight. Whether that program is watching us or not. Drink."

She did so, forcing the liquid past her protesting taste buds. "It was beautiful, John. The twin moons. The lovemaking." Her voice softened. She smiled. "Are you going to tell me what's upset you? Why you are pissed?" she asked bluntly.

He licked his lips again. Finished the bottle. "Drink." He watched her sip. Half of the bottle was gone. "More." She sighed, drank a long swallow. Grimaced. "What was the question?"

She sighed as he downed half of the third beer. Long swallows. His Adam's apple bobbing up and down as he tilted his head back. "What is wrong? Why are you pissed? Tell me, please. I'll make it right, John. Just tell me."

"No. I don't want you breaking up with me again, Moira. Come here. Sit on my lap, baby. If you love me you'll sit right here." He patted his thighs.

She moved to him. Sat on his lap. His arm encircled her. "I do love you, John." Considered. "That's it, isn't it? She sees what you did as needlessly reckless, inappropriate."

"How the hell did you do that?" he wondered. Impressed at her perspicuity.

"Because you did it for me. You didn't have to do it but you did it anyway. For me. Because you didn't want me to do it. Again. Because it was the only way to convince me. Because you, you love me and would do whatever it took..." She felt tears. Drank the beer.

He finished his. "Yes. Moira...I'd do it again. In a second."

"No, John." She grabbed the fourth beer he was taking. Put it aside with her nearly empty bottle, leaning precariously towards the floor. But he held her, keeping her from falling. She straightened. "I'm sorry, John."

He kissed her. "No. No apologies, remember?"

She frowned. "I'll make this right. I...I'll go explain." She stood, moved free of him, but not far. "You see what the problem is, don't you?"

"Yeah...we're not shit-faced drunk yet," he observed.

"No! I'm the reckless one! The, the emotional one and now its rubbing off on you!" She pointed. "It doesn't make sense, John! No, it does! You shouldn't have recklessly risked your life for me! You are more important to this city than I'll ever be! And you know it!"

"How the hell did you...were you eavesdropping?" he asked, bewildered. Staring. She was still pointing at him.

"What the hell, John? You can't do this! I can't do this! Not when it's like this! Not this! John, John, you...I mean obviously I fell for you completely, utterly, like your lots some women all have, all do, but you, you, how could you? How could the hottest guy in Atlantis fall for a mere plain paleontologist? It doesn't make sense!" She frowned, serious, as if it were some scientific query to be solved. "It doesn't track! It doesn't–"

"And don't forget I'm the nicest," he added, amused. "And you, my Moira, are no mere plain paleontologist," he slurred the word.

"No. You are not the nicest. Carson is the nicest," she corrected, still pointing.

"Hey! I'm a nice guy!" he protested. Pouted.

"Yes, you can be, But you, Colonel Sheppard, are a scoundrel!"

He laughed. "Am I? I like that, Doctor O'Meara. You need a scoundrel instead of those pathetic piss-poor lover scientists who don't even know how to bring a woman much less–"

"Hmm, maybe. Look, I'll go to talk to Elishbeth," she slurred, moving slightly as the floor seemed to adjust under her feet, "and set it right. Tell her it's not..." she shook her forefinger at him, "not just the fabulous sex but we're in a rela...relash...relashy..."

"Relationship?" he helpfully supplied.

"Yes, that's what I said. A relationships. And next time I cut my own wrist to prove it. I'd do it again. I'd push you out of the way to–"

"Whoa!" He caught her as she swayed. Fell back against the bed with her. "No, Moira. You're not going anywhere to no one. I won't let you harm yourself again for me ever again."

"What?" She turned, found herself sprawled on top of him. "John." She laughed. A giggle. "Damn...I'm drunk! You got me drunk!"

He laughed. "Yeah. Me too, Moira."

"You." She kissed him. "Oh! Your lip...careful. Careful, baby. Oh baby, baby, do me," she mimicked. Laughed. "Oh, that's me. You're sweetie. Sweetie."

"Geez, Moira, you're more plastered than I am," he commented. Delighted. "Shit. Let me catch up to you." He made to move to grab a bottle of beer.

"No!" She pushed him back. Kissed him. "John. I'll tell her. Don't you worry, baby. I'll tell her." She gently touched his wrist. The bandage. "I won't let you go, John, but I have to–"

"I'm not going anywhere, sweetie," he rejoined. Kissed her. Ran his hand up under her shirt to feel her breasts. "I want you, Moira. I want to feel you."

She laughed. Shifted. "You feel that, John? You...oh!"

He kissed her. "Yeah...I know you felt that. Take off your shirt, baby. I want to kiss every lovely inch of you."

"No sex until your lip heals, sweetie. Hmm..." She smiled as he caressed under the bra. "You feel so fucking good, so gentle," she gushed.

He smiled. "Love me, Moira. Love me." He closed his eyes, freeing her breasts to loosely encircle her waist. He stroked her back. Felt her rear. "Ah...that pert little ass is all mine."

She laughed, wiggled into his grasp. Kissed him. "Hmm...that it is, honey." She laid her head on his chest. "Why is the room spinning?"

He laughed. "The bed will be rocking, baby. Shit. We are so going to regret this in a few."

"What? The lack of sex?"

He laughed. "That most of all. Crap. Ah, Moira...they just need to leave us the hell alone. Only Carson gets it."

"Gets what?"she sleepily asked.

He stroked her hair. "Gets us."

"Gets us where?"

"No. Gets us. Us. Our...um...thing. Our...relationship. To each other," he awkwardly clarified.

"We're lovers, John," she whispered. Giggled.

He grinned. "Yeah...that too."

She snuggled against him. Whispered in his ear, "We have lots of sex, John. Amazing sex."

"That we do," he agreed. "I meant how we feel. You know."

"Oh. How you get hard, so hard and I get wet?" she whispered. Giggled again.

He laughed. "No. You know what I mean."

"How I get hard and you get wet?" she countered.

He laughed. "No! Stop it, Moira...that mouth of yours," he fondly sighed.

"No, John, I'm not! I'm not going down on you. But if you want to go down on me then I say okay."

"Fuck. Now you say that," he grumbled. "If you remember any of this remember that."

"Remember what?"

He kissed her. "Sleep it off, honey. Then we'll face the music."

"Music? I don't hear any–"

"Ssh," he scolded. Swatted her rear.

"Hey! Okay, John." She kissed him. "You're a nice guy."

"Thank you, Moira."

"Don't you worry, John. I'll talk to Elizabeth and tell her I want you. No. I'll tell her you are in my bed and we are staying there to do it. No. That I'll will take the flak off your fine, fine ass. No. What was I going to tell her?" she wondered.

"Something about my fine, fine ass?" he asked, feeling the bed whirling under him.

"Oh! That I'll take the blame for cutting,." she remembered.

"No. Tell her you love me and just for the sex. No. Tell her the amazing sex you love and not having right now. No. I love you anyway so it doesn't matter about the sex. That's not it. Tell her I won't let you do the cutting."

"What cutting? No. Later, John. Sleep."

"Okay. Sleep." he agreed.


	3. Chapter 3

Adaptive Radiation3

Moira stirred. Murmured a laugh. Hands were moving under her shirt. Pushing the material up. Up. Freeing her breasts from her bra. Caressing. A mouth moved across them. Moira sighed pleasantly, arching, legs stretching. The mouth moved down her waist to the scar on her side. A hand moved between her legs, caressing. Rubbing along the cleft. She shifted. Opened her eyes. "John?"

He laughed, lifted his head. "You were expecting someone else?" he teased. He slid up to kiss her, hand still rubbing against her pants. "Hmm...Moira...are you still drunk?"

She laughed, batted his hand off her. Pushed him back to move on top of him. She kissed him repeatedly but paused. "Oh! Your lip."

"Is fine, baby. Do me."

She laughed. "No, no, John, your lip." She kissed him again. "John, I want to..." She giggled suddenly.

"Still drunk? Crap. Winced as his earpiece clicked.

"Colonel Sheppard, copy?"

"Shit." He tapped the earpiece. "Copy? Major Lorne?"

"No, no, John, you..." Moira assured. She kissed him. Ran her kisses down his jaw, his cheek. His throat.

"Yes, sir," came Evan's voice. "Doctor Weir was wondering where you were. There's a brief about a possible lead on the ZPM on the mainland. Doctor McKay thinks he can–"

Moira slid up to the earpiece. "Hi, Evan! John and I had a drink!"

"Moira?" Evan asked, grinned hearing her slur. He glanced round the control room but no one was listening. "Are you–"

"John got me drunk! No, shit-faced drunk to–"

"No! Moira!" John scolded. "Negative, major." He covered the earpiece. "Moira, hush!"

She giggled at his tone. "Yes, shir. Oh John...you are so fucking hot when you are irritated." She kissed him. Body squirming on his.

He suppressed a moan as her actions were arousing him. "When is the debrief brief...brief thing whatever," he stammered. Not quite sober either.

"Uh, sir? In thirty minutes. Are you drunk, sir?"

"Of course not, major," John assured. "I'm..." he paused as Moira kissed down his throat. Slid down his body. Shoved his shirt up. Up. Kissed along his waist. "Moira, cut it out for a sec," he cautioned. "Did you say in thirty?"

"Thirty?" she asked. "Oh no, John...not that long!" She giggled. "John!" she exclaimed loudly. "I want–"

"SSH!" he scolded. "Major?"

Evan stifled a laugh. Had to turn away so no one could see his expression. "Yes, sir. In thirty. Um, I can always make some excuse for you if you need to–"

"John!" she exclaimed again. "I want to go down on you!" she announced.

"What?" he blurted, stared at her as she sat. Undid his pants. Let her mouth go lower on his waist. To the band of his boxers as she opened his pants.

"I said I could make an excuse for you, sir," Evan repeated, "if you are too, um...indisposed."

Moira caressed him, stroking his cock as it jerked to life in her hands. Fingers gliding against his underwear. She slipped the shorts open a little. Giggled. "Hmm...John...I know how much you want this."

"Fuck...I...I...Moira, wait." He shifted, groaned. Cursed inwardly. "Major, I'll be there. In thirty. Moira," he shut off the earpiece as she threaded her mouth along his shorts, up the shaft with pressing possession. John shifted, moaned, reacting wildly. Jumping to life under her. "Shit oh shit! Moira, wait. Are you sure? You're drunk. You'll be so pissed if I let you do this...I'm a nice guy, damn it! A nice...then again, I am a scoundrel..." He debated. Decided. "Moira, honey, no. Not like this...of course I can't really stop you..."

Moira laughed against him. Sat and grinned. "Ah ha! You are a nice guy, Mr. Sheppard! See? I wasn't going to go down on you yet. I was testing you."

"Oh." Disappointment. "Did I pass?"

"Yes. Oh yes, sweetie. Sweetie, do you want me to go down on you?" she asked. Serious.

He stared. "Only if you want to, baby."

"I've never done that before." She nibbled her lower lip, freed it as she considered. "I've done lots of things with you I've never done with my few, few men." She touched him. Caressed. "Hmm...John, should we get some ice cream?"

He laughed. "Now who's being kinky, baby?"

"John, I'm serious!"she scolded earnestly. "I've never sucked off a man before. What flavor of ice cream do you think works best?"

John burst into laughter, tears in his eyes he was laughing so hard. His body shook under her. "Oh God! Moira, stop it! You are killing me!"

"I'm serious, John," she continued, baffled by his hilarity. "I fail to see the humor in this at all. I don't know what flavor of ice cream would work when I go down on you. Do you? Long licks or short sucks? Strawberry? I'm thinking it would have to be a mild flavor."

"Moira, please!" he stammered between laughs. She laughed as well.

"What? John, is it that funny?"

"Hilarious, baby! Fuck!" He caught his breath. Wiped his eyes. "No more, Moira. Please!"

"You don't want me to go down on you, John? Make up your mind! First you do, now you don't? Oh! Is it the ice cream?" She giggled. "Will it cause too much, too much shrinkage?" She laughed loudly. "Because, sweetie, let me tell you...it would take a lot of ice cream to even begin to shrink down that ordnance you have."

John laughed loudly. Helpless. Caught her and pulled her up to him. Onto him. "Stop it, Moira! That mouth of yours is killing me! Here!" He rolled them so she was underneath. "I know the only way to stop that mouth is to put my tongue in it!" He kissed her.

But she laughed, pushed him onto his back again. "Is that the only thing, John?" she teased. "No. I said I would so hold on...let me find it." She slid down, kissing his waist. Moved lazily to his crotch.

John laughed again. "Did you find it, Moira? It can't be that hard to find. Moira?" He touched her shoulder. She was slumped upon him. Fast asleep, face buried in his crotch. He laughed loudly. Lay there a moment. Pulled her gently up to the pillows. She muttered and rolled onto her stomach. Burped. Slid into sleep.

John smiled. Turned to her. Caressed her back. Lightly smacked her rear. "Ah, Moira." He kissed her brow. Sighed. Checked his watch. "Shit. Ten minutes. Then I have to go." He closed his eyes. Exhausted by the beer, the merriment.

************************************************************************

When he opened his eyes the room was plunged into darkness. "Shit." He checked his watch. Felt for his earpiece. Sat to find it tangled in the messy blankets. He slipped it on. Looked at Moira. She was asleep, sprawled on her stomach, legs wide open. He smiled. Smacked her rear. "Moira! Moira, move that pert little ass!"

She jerked awake. "Huh? John?"

He smacked her rear again. Gently squeezed. "The finest ass in Atlantis, I swear."

"John!" He laughed as she scrambled to a seated position. "What the–"

"Are you sober?"

"I...ugh!" She made a face at the taste in her mouth.

"Meet me in mess hall for dinner." He stood. "And clean up, Moira. You look...you look like a woman who needs a lot of sex."

"Shut up, John. You look like a rough and ready soldier! You...oh shit! I have to see–"

"No." He caught her as she moved past him. Spun her round and kissed her. "Ugh! Meet me first. Please. For dinner. And be minty fresh, would you?"

She laughed. "Back at you, colonel! Okay, John."

"Okay, Moira. See you in twenty, baby. Minty fresh."

"Likewise, sweetie." He moved to the door. She laughed. "Oh, John, you might want to zip up your pants first."

"What?" He looked down. "Oh. Yeah. I knew that." He zipped them. Glanced over his shoulder at her as she was smirking. "Hilarious, baby! You might want to put on your bra. No, wait. Don't bother."

"Hilarious, sweetie. Go!"

"As ordered, Moira. And I was serious about the bra. No panties either."

*************************************************************************

Moira sat in the cafeteria eating her dinner. Tired of waiting for John. She sighed, feeling chagrin at the memories of the drunken afternoon. The concern. The silliness. The almost sex. The drunken confessions. Rambling. Admissions. She ate impatiently. Gaze drifting. Mind drifting. A carton of ice cream was plopped in front of her, startling her. She stared, uncomprehending. Then remembered. Slowly met John's grin. She laughed. "Oh no. No way, John. No freaking way."

He laughed, sitting across from her. "You said–"

"I was drunk! You can't take anything I said seriously."

"Only that, Moira. Only that. You said–"

"Shut up, John!" They laughed. "Eat your dinner." She watched him. He was clean-shaven. Wore a long-sleeved black shirt with a zipper halfway down the material. Black pants. Hair combed but in perpetual disorder. She saw his gaze fixed on her chest. The V-neck black buttoned shirt concealed a push-up bra to give him a glimpse of the swells of her breasts. A bit of black lace peeked out of the shirt against her pale skin. Dark violet pants finished the outfit. Her hair was loose, swirling around her. She smiled. "Yes. It does."

He tore his gaze from her chest up to her eyes. Took a moment to figure out what she meant. Smiled. "Ah. The bra matches the panties. Hmm...where have you been hiding that?"

"I don't even know why I brought it with me. I mean, I mean I wasn't expecting to have any–"

"Sex on this expedition? That's before you met me, baby."

She laughed. "True, sweetie."

He tapped the carton of ice cream. "Don't you at least want a taste? Aren't you curious what flavor I selected?"

She smiled. Read the carton. "Vanilla caramel cream?" She laughed. "I don't even want to know."

He laughed. Opened it. "It was our idea, baby. Here. Taste it. Ah, no." He took the spoon from her. Instead dipped his finger into the carton. Pulled it out with a blob of ice cream on it. He held it towards her. Smiling. Gaze challenging.

Moira stared. Glanced round. The cafeteria was nearly empty. They were sitting in the back. She smiled. Took his hand into both of hers. Leaned. His eyes lowered. She guided his finger into her mouth. Licked. Sucked the ice cream off with slow, deliberate motions of her tongue, her lips. Hummed her enjoyment of the flavor.

John softly moaned, shifted. Delighted. Aroused. Spellbound as she withdrew his finger from her mouth. Traced it down her chest. Between her breasts. He sighed happily.

Suddenly she shoved his hand off her, freed him. Sat back in her seat. "Rodney."

"Wha..." John looked over, scowled.

"Hey. Mind if I–"

"Yes. We're having a private dinner," John stated. Voice stern.

"Anyway," Rodney ignored him, sitting next to him, "Moira, I wanted to talk to you about the–"

"Rodney, I mean it! This is private," John warned. A gruff steel in his voice that made the marines quake. But not the scientist.

"Private? What, did you have reservations?" Rodney quipped. "Moira, the mainland–"

"Damn it, do I have to pull my gun to get you to–" John began.

"Please, Rodney, continue," Moira invited. Glanced at John. Smiled at his irritation. She licked her lips. Began to eat. John frowned at her but began to eat his dinner.

"Thank you, Moira. I've been thinking about the echolocation. The sonar pulses used by the automated defenses. Are there any other anomalous signatures that could be detected by a biological creature?"

"Hmm...maybe..." she considered. "Sonar...of course, high-pitched frequencies. Do you mean purely auditory?"

"Yes. We can rule out any other means of energy, I believe. Oh...how is your foot?"

"My foot?" She glanced at John who shrugged.

"Yes. Lorne said you had a really bad cramp in your injured foot. That John had to go help you since you were all the way across the city. That's why he missed the meeting."

John hid his smile, silently thanking Evan. "Yes," he agreed. "She could hardly walk. If I didn't know any better I would have said she was drunk." He winked at her. She smiled. "But she is fine now. Aren't you?"

"Yes, John."

"Did I miss anything important?" John asked.

"Not really. We're going to the mainland tomorrow. To search grid eight. With my superior equipment and of course my superior knowledge of all things Ancient. I suggested that Moira come along with us to check for any biological anomalies. I presume you'll be joining us?"

"Yes," John agreed.

"At first light, I was thinking," Rodney continued.

"No. Not that early." He was looking at her again. Slowly smiled. "The later the better. Isn't that right, Moira?"

She frowned at the suggestions sparkling in his brilliant green eyes but replied, "Yes, in the middle morning."

"Or late, late morning would be best," John argued. "Hell, make it the afternoon. So these energy signatures should lead us to the point of triangulation where the ZPM is?"

"Yes. It will." Rodney shrugged under his friend's steady gaze. "It should. We couldn't find it earlier which makes me wonder if the original positioning is–"

John nearly choked on his food. Moira's fingers had slid across his thigh under the table. Had grasped and squeezed his cock with expert precision.

"John? Are you all right?" Rodney asked, bewildered.

John swallowed, cleared his throat as Moira released him. Demurely sipped some water. He met her smile, narrowed his gaze at her. "Fine...fine..."

"Oh, you know John," Moira stated, eying Rodney. "He gets all choked up over original positioning and weapons triangulation," she smoothly teased. "Isn't that right, John?"

"Yes, Moira, you seem to have grasped it quite well," he agreed with a smile. "That is six, by the way."

"Six? Oh John, come on! I don't think that–"

"I think it does, Moira. Six."

"What?" Rodney asked, looking from one to the other. They seemed to be locked in their own little world.

"Private. Like this private dinner," John grumbled. "Are you finished yet? Oh wait...you always finish before I do, don't you, Moira?"

She smirked. "Not always, John."

"Ugh. Gooey eyes again? What is it with you two? No, don't answer! Oh no, was this a date?"

"No," John stated. "Definitely not. The city might sink No, it's a meal."

She laughed. "Not a picnic, though. We should be safe."

"But for how long?" he teased. "Hmm...how long, Moira?" He tapped the ice cream.

She shook her head. "No." She looked at Rodney. "You should go invite Katie over. We could hall have a nice meal together." She ignored John's pained expression.

"Really? The four of us? Like a dinner date?"

"No. Just four people eating," John corrected. He sighed heavily. Once Rodney had left he looked at Moira. "Was that really necessary?"

"Yes. John...oh John...oh John..."she teased, making her voice whimper. Breathless.

"That's it." He stood. "Come on. Now."

She laughed. "Does that make seven?"

He nodded. "Eight if you don't get that pert little ass off that chair, baby. Seven spankings."

She stood. "Should we–"

"No. Let's go." He led her out of the cafeteria. "Fuck. I forgot the ice cream."

"No, flyboy," she pulled him back before he could return to the cafeteria. "Not tonight."

"You said–" he countered, turning to her with a smile.

"Knock it off, John. No."

"But you said...you said–"

"Will you shut up about it?" she flared, embarrassed. As he laughed she freed her hand, strode up the hallway. He followed on her heels.


	4. Chapter 4

Adaptive Radiation4

Moira pulled John into her room. Closed the door, laughing.

"Sometimes you drive me to drink, you know that? I–" John began to complain.

She turned, flung herself into his arms. Kissed him. "Oh John!"

He eagerly returned her kisses, moving her towards the bed.

She pulled back suddenly. "Oh! Your lip! We have to be–"

"No. I am using my mouth no matter what tonight." He smiled, ran his fingers through her hair. He ran his hands along the sides of her breasts. To her waist. To the front of the shirt. Played across the tops of her breasts. He stepped close. Kissed her. A slow, languid kiss. Full of promise, of passion. He slowly trailed his mouth along her throat. His fingers catching the buttons on her shirt.

Moira sighed, murmured happily at his slow seductions. "John," she purred. Caressing his arms, his chest. Tugging the zipper open on the shirt.

He ran his mouth down the front of her. Licked across the tops of her breasts. Began to unbutton the shirt. One by one. Opened the shirt and slid it slowly off to reveal the push-up black bra. Her rosy, hard nipples pushing the fabric. He smiled. Ran his hands along the bra. Cupped her breasts, caressed. Moira shifted, losing her breath, reacting. His hands slid down to her pants. "I have to see this set," he teased.

"Wait." She kissed him, ran her hands under his shirt. She withdrew, kissing down his throat. He smiled. She pulled at his shirt. He lifted his arms, let her pull it off him. He kissed her, unzipping her pants. Yanked them down.

"Shoes," he said into her ear. Ran his mouth across her skin.

She moaned, stepped out of her shoes. Out of the fallen pants. He smiled. Fingers running along the skimpy panties. "Lovely," he observed, fingers stroking the triangle of fabric. Feeling her wetness.

"John," she wooed. Longing for him. She undid his pants. "Shoes."

He quickly removed them. Removed his pants. He pulled her to him, against him. Bodies pressing. Kissing her passionately, claiming her mouth. She pulled him to the bed but he stopped her. Grabbed her rear. Squeezed. Squeezed. "John?"

"I need to work on this position, Moira," he said huskily. "I should be able to figure out the leverage."

"What? Oh no..." she sighed. "Another kinky...why can't we just have sex?"

"We will, baby, believe me." He looked round. "Oh, Moira, should we turn the clock radio to the wall? It might get off on what I'm going to do with you."

"Hilarious, John. You–"

He kissed her again. Slid the bra straps down to her elbows. Abruptly yanked the bra off to free her breasts. He smiled. Fondling. She shifted, caught his arms. "Here...I have to have this first," he said low. Moving her against the wall. He kissed her deeply, ignoring the cut on his lip. Lowering his mouth to her breasts.

Moira arched, ran her nails up his arms. Shifting against the wall. "Oh John, John...now, now," she encouraged. Yearning for him to take her, to join with her.

He moved her towards the table, leaned her back and suddenly pulled down the panties. His hands ran up to part her thighs, to run between her legs. She moaned, aroused and ready as his fingers caressed. Teased. "I could bring you like this, baby...I could just bring you like this. But I want to be in you, on you," he muttered. He pulled down his boxers, already hard, erect. He yanked her up against him. Kissed her repeatedly. Grabbed her rear. Positioned her back and entered.

The sudden thrust caught her off-guard. Moira gasped, leaned back, grabbing onto him as he began to drive into her. Already coming as she clenched around him, battled him and encouraged him all at once. He groaned loudly, thrusting. Thrusting. Coming quickly.

"Moira, Moira...there...oh fuck...is it there?"

She was moving with him, spreading wide. Rear end still cupped in his hands. "Not yet, John...you...you're not there yet," she gasped as he plied her faster, faster still.

"Damn...I'll find it, honey...I'll find that spot," he promised, groaned again as a burst of pleasure tightened, then released him.

She moaned, shifting, murmuring. But he knew he hadn't brought her yet. No litany of his name escaped her breathless lips. She kissed him. Opening her mouth to encourage his tongue to echo his lower body.

"Damn...damn...I know it's there, baby," he muttered. He shifted, trying another angle. A slower entrance this time.

She stroked his arms, chest. "If we were on the bed I'd be there already, John."

"Give me a minute, Moira. I'm an expert at strategy and position," he assured. He squeezed her rear, nearly lifting her. Thrust deeper to groan. To assuage his own desires, his own need.

"Ah, John, so close...so close..." she taunted, rocking with him. Pleasure mounting but no release, no burst of orgasm forthcoming. Yet.

"Fuck it, then," he conceded. He pushed her all the way back onto the table. Held her down as he moved over her. Into her. She bent her knees, suddenly rocking wildly.

Moira lost her breath. She grabbed his arms as his mouth moved to tease her breasts. She gasped, squirmed as he finally found the sweetness he sought. She shuddered as wave after wave hit her. "Oh John, oh John, oh John!" she cried in a rush as he brought her. The orgasms sudden, swift. Nearly making her sit up with the intensity.

"Finally!" he grumbled, moving faster. Quicker. Deeper. While he strained, pulsed and released completely. Chasing after her own pleasure with his own. The ejaculation engulfed him and he groaned happily. Rested upon her, leaning against the table.

Moira cried out in a breathless whimper as he moved again, consistently sliding along her. She grabbed, clutched, nearly pleaded with him to stop as the undulating pleasure was an aching throb. Over and over. "John oh John please, please, oh God, oh God..." she stammered, trembling as he resumed his motions, his energy. His hunger.

He smiled, stubbornly keeping her in an aroused and orgasmic state until his own body finally relaxed, attained all that it could. He breathed deeply. Freed her. Pulled her off the table. To the bed. Moved over her and kissed her repeatedly, deeply. As if his mouth would take over now that his cock was quiescent. "Moira...my Moira," he mumbled.

"John...are you...are you trying to kill me with sex?"

He smiled. "Rest up, baby. I haven't even finished round one."

"Round one? You...you..." She stared, wide-eyed as he smiled. Expression smug. Wicked. And completely serious.

***************************************************************************

John rolled onto his back, groaned with pure pleasure, pure exhaustion. He stretched his arms. Laid back. The room was hot, close. His whole body reverberated with pleasure, with the sex heavy in the room. The sex on his body. Sticky. Sweaty. Sated. He breathed deeply, unable to speak for a moment. Throat dry. Raw. He doubted he had any moisture left in him, had expended it all, all of it in repeated sexual intercourse with Moira. Over and over. And over.

He glanced at the table near the bed. The sex had been so vigorous at one or two sessions the bed had violently rocked into the table. So violently everything had fallen off with a clatter, a crash. He grinned at the memory. The chorus of their orgasms. The possession. Moira crying out his name loudly, a long exhalation of nearly primal pleasure. His loud, long moaning of her name, swearing profusely. Growling. Guttural. When he could articulate, that is.

"Moira," he croaked, voice a lost rasp in the dark. He swallowed. Wanted to get up to get a drink of water but was too lazy to move. "Moira?" he said again. Sounding more like himself. But his voice curled around her name in a breathy possession. Intimate.

"John," she whispered. Swallowed past a dry, hoarse throat. She lay sprawled next to him, breathing deeply. Hot. Sweaty. Sticky with their sex. Their passion. Their repeated passion over and over. And over. She stared at the darkness in amazed admiration. Her body was one long echo of pleasure. She shifted and slightly felt a subtle tenderness but also waves of orgasms that still persisted. Everything felt vivid. Swollen. Spent. She had never had such vigorous, continual intercourse, not even with John, who had seemingly outdone himself. The crests and falls of passionate copulation, the escalation of their voices. Inarticulate enjoyment. Possessive callings of each other's names. The sheer agony of reaching the brink, only to plunge repeatedly into pleasure.

"John," she repeated, calming her racing heart. The rush of endorphins. The languid muscles no longer taut, tense, tight. She closed her legs slowly, made a small noise as the intimate tenderness reminded her of his repeated thrusts. An echo of pleasure made her smile.

"Moira? Did I hurt you?" he asked, hearing her small noise. He looked over, turned his head. Too lazy, too tired to roll onto his side just yet.

"No, John," she assured. She turned to him, rolling onto her side. Smiled. Gazed lovingly at him. She lightly kissed him, scooting closer. Gently touched his lip. Frowned. "Your lip...I don't feel any blood but it might be swollen. Or bruised." She sighed. "Great. Now they'll think I punched you." He smiled. "Oh! I didn't scratch you, did I?" She ran her hand along his arm.

"No. Not on my arm anyway. It'd be on my back as pressed as I was into you." He grinned. "Ah baby, I was in you so often and for so long I should be paying you rent." He laughed.

"Hilarious, John," she scolded. "Is that the least romantic thing you could say?"

"No. I could say a lot cruder and much more lewd things. Would it turn you on?"

"No, sweetie." He laughed quietly. She kissed him, ran her mouth tenderly over his jaw. Down his throat. "John...I...you...I'm glad you don't get drunk too often. If we had more nights like this I don't think I could survive it." He laughed. "Seriously, John! Now I know why you have had so many women! You wear them out."

He laughed again. Slid his arm around her. Stroked her back, her hair. "Some. Some women. And no, Moira, I only have extraordinary marathon sexual encounters with you. How you kept me going is a mystery to me, sweetheart. But damn...we've spent nearly half the night having sex. Talk about lots."

She smiled at his proud, pleased tone. "Dial down the testosterone, flyboy. We did rest in between making love."

He kissed her gently. "True. But how many times, Moira? Four? Five? Eight? I brought you every single time. Every damn time!"

"Ssh!" She debated. Moved upon her elbows to gaze down at him. The city lights illuminated the room in a feeble glow. She stroked his jaw, his lips carefully. "Damn, John, now we have to wait for your lip to heal. First we had to wait for your back, now your lip. I didn't think you'd be so delicate, colonel."

He smiled. "Hilarious, Moira. I don't think I was too delicate tonight, was I?" He reached up to touch her cheek. Her lips. "You're sure I didn't hurt you?"

"I'm fine, John." She kissed his hand. Saw his bound wrist. He noticed her troubled gaze, drew his hand away to conceal the bandage. "I...I suppose I'll have to talk to Weir."

"No. It's handled, sweetheart. I'll take any flak, don't you worry."

"But it's my fault, John! Your wrist. I made you do that. I made–"

"No. You didn't make me do anything."

"Really? Then why were you so upset yesterday? So upset you wanted us to get, what was it? Shit-faced drunk? No." She touched his lips. "The truth, John. Tell me what happened."

He kissed her hand, her fingers one by one. Ran his mouth down her wrist. "Ow." He sighed. "The truth? Then yes. She wondered at my actions. Questioned them. I explained, tried to explain. It's...it's like...I can't have a private life. Our relationship is private, Moira. It pisses me off when anyone tries to interfere in it. And it's not only that."

"Go on," she urged softly. Freed her hand to caress. To run her fingers through his disordered hair. Stroking. Soothing.

He sighed. "It's...I risk my life every day. Okay, not every day. But every mission. I mean, we all do. And it's in my job description, I know. I accept that. But I never risk it needlessly. Recklessly. Sure, I've done stuff needlessly. Recklessly. I do what I think is right, Moira. And if that means risking my life so be it. But I'm not doing it because I want to die. I do it because I want to live, to save everyone. I risk my life all the fucking time, and now, only now, just because it happened to be for you I get called on the carpet for it. That pissed me off. And that's just Weir. Can you imagine Caldwell's reaction? It's like..."

John paused. Staring up at the dark ceiling. Listening to the faint sounds of the ocean beneath them. Crashing against the city. Back and forth. Back and forth. Felt Moira's fingers still stroking his hair, gentle motions. Her warm body close to his. Her patient silence as she waited.

"It's like..." he resumed, frowning, "it's like they expect it of me. Which is fine, that's my job. Except for you, apparently. As if I'd not risk my life for you especially. I'm not excluding you, Moira. I'm not excluding anyone. I don't care how essential they are to the fucking city or not, or if they happen to have the fucking ATA gene or not. Shit, do they really think I wouldn't do anything, everything to save you?" He sighed again. Rubbed his eyes. "Shit. I never talk this much. Must be the beer. Or the afterglow," he wryly commented. Lowered his hands to meet her staring, solemn gaze. Saw tears sparkling in her brown eyes. "No, no, honey, don't get upset. Don't do that. I didn't mean to upset you. That's why I didn't want to tell you. Moira, don't. Don't. You risk your life for me. You have several times. I think we're about even now, huh?"

Moira didn't say a word. Absorbing his. She kissed him. Again. A slow, lazy kiss to savor the fullness of his lips. Careful of the cut. "John," she finally whispered. She ran soft kisses up his brow to his hair. Hid her face briefly there.

He scowled. "Shit. This is why I don't do this. Talk, I mean. No hearts. No flowers. Remember? Just sex. Lots."

She smiled, met his gaze. "Yes, John. I noticed. Lots. Lots of amazing, breathtaking sex."

"Better." He touched her cheek. Wiped a stray tear. "So you won't go to Weir? Say no, Moira. Let me handle this. I don't want any of this to touch you or inhibit you, or alter your behavior towards me. All right?"

She sighed. "If...if that's what you truly want, John."

"It is. It will be fine, honey."

She frowned. Eyes on his wrist until he lowered it, moving the bandage out of sight. He stroked her hair. Curled his fingers in the long, soft strands. "John...I think...I think it would be better if you didn't accompany us to the mainland."

"What? No!"

"Listen to me," she urged, shifting to press her body against his. "You stay here in the city. I can ask Evan to pilot the Jumper for Rodney and myself. We will check out this grid eight and see if we can find anything. If we do we'll radio you."

"Tired of me already?" he quipped, but his gaze was intent. Serious.

"I'm serious, John. I think it would be better if you stayed here. It's not a high priority, high danger mission anyway. Just a sciency thing. But don't let Rodney know I said that."

He smiled briefly. "Hmm...it is hard to resist you when you are naked in bed with me."

She smiled. Kissed him. "Thank you. I...I suppose we should, um, try to be more discreet or–"

"Oh no. We do nothing but be ourselves. It's far too late for discretion now, isn't it?" He rolled her onto her back suddenly. Kissed her, moving his mouth in a not too subtle rhythm. Passionate. Loving. "Moira," he breathed into her ear. Nibbled at her earlobe to make her squirm.

"John?" She stroked his arm. Her legs parting as he moved against her. "Are you serious?"

He smiled. "Always, Moira, about sex. Moira baby, we have hours yet to be entwined. If that program had seen us tonight I think her head would have exploded," he teased, changing the topic. Reversing the somber mood.

She laughed. "You nearly made my head explode, colonel. By fucking my brains out."

He laughed. "My utmost pleasure, doctor." He kissed her again. "Hmm...I don't think I can get it up right now, baby...unless...unless you go down on me like you said. That mouth of yours can accomplish anything."

She sighed. "Sweetie, will you ever stop calling me that?"

"No," he answered. "It's our foreplay code, baby."

"Fine, sweetie. Sweetie," she teased at his frown.

"Not during sex, Moira," he cautioned.

She smiled. Kissed him. "We're not having sex right now, John."

"Oh. Yeah, I noticed." He settled comfortably. Closed his eyes. "All right then, baby. Have at it. Just not during sex."


	5. Chapter 5

Adaptive Radiation5

John couldn't explain his bad mood. He was restless. Irritable. Which did not make any sense considering he had spent a blissful, orgasmic evening with Moira. Spending hours with her. Hours of some of the best sex he had experienced. He regretted telling her all about his feelings over the argument with Elizabeth. Regretted opening up so freely to her. Upsetting her. Trusting her he had talked freely. And now she was on the mainland, barring his participation.

He sighed. Shoved the data pad across the table as he brooded in the conference room. He fingered his sore lip. A scab was forming and he picked at it. Recalling his passionate mouth on hers. Heedless of the pain. Reckless. He swore, glared at the table. Tapping his fingers on it.

**************************************************************************

Moira stood. Watched Rodney scan the open field. She looked round, saw only flat land. Short grasses waving in the breeze. Grid eight was an unimpressive expanse lacking anything unusual. She turned as Evan neared. P90 cradled in his arm. "Nothing yet," she informed him. "There is a faint signature but nothing concrete."

"Hmm. Maybe the ZPM is depleted," Evan suggested.

Moira hesitated, but Rodney was busy, engrossed in his scans. Muttering to himself. "Evan...I...thank you."

He met her gaze, pondered. Then smiled. "Oh. Think nothing of it, Moira."

"No, I mean it, Evan. Thank you. John...he'd thank you too. I'm sure he didn't want you to, to lie for him...we both had a little too much to drink," she awkwardly explained.

"A little?" he queried, brow raised.

She briefly smiled. "Okay, a lot." She sighed. "He was...um...upset."

"With you?"

"No. With...I guess Weir came down on him pretty hard for, for cutting his wrist..to convince me we were really home. You know...risking his life recklessly for, for..."

"Oh. Got it. For a lower echelon team member. I see."

"You do?" She stared. But nodded. "Yeah, I see it too. I mean, that's just how things are around here. New galaxy and all. But John...he...he doesn't see it like that."

"Not when it comes to you, no. I should hope not," Evan agreed.

"Anyway, that's why he was...um, inebriated. And I couldn't let him drink alone..." She colored. Uncomfortable.

"Of course not. That would have been rude," he agreed. A teasing smile on his face.

"Evan!" she scolded. Hit his arm. "Evan, is, is there some sort of, oh, I don't know, some sort of protocol that says whom a, a military commander can, can see?"

"No. Not unless it's a subordinate. That's frowned upon. Why? What's going on, Moira?"

"I..." She chewed her lower lip. Looked round the flat plain. "Tell me the truth, Evan. Is this a problem?" She met his gaze. "I mean, our...my relationship with, with John?"

He considered. "A problem? No."

"Evan, tell me–"

"Honestly? No. Only if it directly impacts his duties, Moira. Which it hasn't. Why do you ask? Weir can't have come down on him that hard."

"And Caldwell?" she persisted, worrying.

"Well, he'd be worse," Evan admitted. Shrugged. "But like I said he hasn't done anything wrong. Sure, he missed a boring meeting. Sure, he's not always, um, available at times, but what he does in his free time is his own business. Everyone's allowed to have a private life, Moira. Especially out here. Even military commanders." He touched her arm, saw a glimmer of tears in her eyes. "Moira, you don't have to lose him. You're a good influence."

"Am I? I doubt Weir sees it that way. And Caldwell..."

"Never mind them. It's private, right? And you haven't done anything wrong."

"I...I don't know..."

"Have you talked to Sheppard about this?"

"Some." She met his gaze. "Sorry, Evan. I just, I just don't understand what the huge deal is. I mean, maybe, maybe because this has gone on for awhile, you know, that it's not just a fling, or a casual, physical thing...what am I supposed to do?"

He smiled at her blush, her awkward solemnity. "Nothing."

"That's what John said," she grumbled. Unconvinced.

"Found something!" Rodney announced. They hastened to him. He stood in the middle of the field. "An erratic reading. Below us. Way below us." He stomped the ground with his boot. "The ground is hard."

"Too hard for agriculture," Evan agreed. "That's why the Athosians settled on the other side of the mountains. This energy reading...what does it tell you?"

"It tells me some kind of power source is below us, what do you think?" Rodney snapped. Shook his head.

"What kind of energy?" Moira asked. Shoving aside concerns. Worries. Thoughts of John.

"Low-level EMF readings...not the echolocation or sonar ranges like before."

Moira knelt. Touched the short grasses. They were tough. Brittle. "The grass is hard. Rough. That could explain the vampire rabbits, Evan! An adaptation to their food source! Elongated teeth to cut these harder fibers." She touched the dirt. Pushed her fingers into it. "This is hard."

"I know. I said that! And despite any vampire rabbits this means nothing to our–"

"No, Rodney! Really hard! Like, like solid hard!"

Evan knelt next to her. Produced a large knife. He brushed loose dirt aside. Dug with the blade. The ground was dry. Unyielding. "This is harder than permafrost. It's..." He pushed. A clang.

Rodney knelt. "Was that metal?"

"Sure sounded like it," Evan agreed. "Help me." The three dug, clawing dirt away. Digging deeper. Evan pushed his knife. A wad of dirt flew. Arcing. He cleared the hole to reveal a gray metal.

"Rodney?" Moira asked.

"Hang on." He scanned it. "Stronger. I think we're on top of something. The main control center, perhaps, but the signal is deep. I mean way deeper than we could ever dig." They stood, wiping off their hands.

"How far does it extend?" Evan asked.

"Let me see...calibrating for that metal...thermal...wow...the, the whole field!" Rodney stared round at the empty space.

"We can't dig up the entire field!" Moira exclaimed. "Can you narrow the parameters?"

"The marines–" Rodney offered.

"Can't either," Evan finished. "Narrow the parameters."

"Hmm...there could be an opening...a hatch...let me see." He shook his head. "I'm finding no external weaknesses to indicate an opening."

"It's probably sealed tight. Has been for centuries," Evan noted.

"Wait. Biological anomalies. That would include botanical ones, right?" Moira looked round. "Somewhere the grass isn't gnawed to the stems. Somewhere the rabbits couldn't or wouldn't feed–"

"Because the energy source would disrupt their hearing! A low pulse which we can't hear but they could!" Rodney snapped his fingers. "Excellent, Moira! So how do we search?"

"Look for an untouched area...with longer grasses."

"I better call in some help. This could take all day," Evan realized. Tapped his radio.

"Let's get started, Rodney. You go left. I'll go right. Evan, take the center. We shouldn't call the city yet," she argued. "This could be a long shot."

"Okay...but if we find something I have to call," Evan relented.

Moira walked the grid, the men on her left. She studied the grasses carefully, but her mind wandered. Wandered back inevitably to John. His troubled confession. His concern over her. His adamant protection to shield her from the approbation. She forced her mind to clear. To search. Though she longed to see him. To make it right somehow, even though she wasn't sure what was wrong.

"Here! Moira, here!"

At Rodney's call she ran to him. Evan followed. They knelt next to the scientist. "Yes! Longer grasses here. Wait!" She dropped her pack, produced a small shovel.

The men exchanged glances. "What?"

"Seriously? That little toy?" Evan mocked.

She smiled. "It's better than our hands."

"True. Major," Rodney indicated the ground. Scanned. "Yes. There is a slight fluctuation here. Very low levels...but there."

"Fine." Evan took the shovel, began to dig. Scrape. Shovel dirt. The ground was hard and Evan's muscled tensed with the effort. Trying not to break the little shovel's handle as he dug and dug. Finally a clang rent the air. He worked his way along an edge. Quickly followed its circular pattern. Revealed the outlines of a hatch. All three bent to uncovering it. Using hands, sticks, knives. The hot sun beat down on their backs as they worked. The breezes cooling.

Evan paused. A handle protruded at last. He tugged it. "A little help here, Rodney."

"Oh." Rodney grabbed it. Both men tugged. Tugged. Strained. "It's locked."

"You think? Some C4 should blow it open," Evan said. "But we don't have any." He tapped his radio. "Atlantis, copy? Colonel Shepppard, this is Major Lorne rep–"

"Lorne?" John sat, instantly alert. "Report!"

"We found something, sir. The whole field is on top of a control complex, several feet below us, we think. We found a hatch but need some C4 to open it."

"Understood. On my way." John was already on his feet and moving.

"John?" Rodney interjected, tapping his earpiece, "could you bring us some lunch? Moira and I are starving." He glanced at her, smiled.

"Is that so? Well see. On my way, major. Good work. Sheppard out."

"All right. Until that C4 gets here we wait." Evan handed Moira the little shovel.

"And you laughed at my shovel," she scolded. Put it away. She touched the handle of the hatch. "Are those Ancient markings?" She pointed to some nearly illegible scrawl on the metal.

"Yes." Rodney peered at it. "Probably says do not disturb."

"Or no exit." They laughed.

***********************************************************************

"Here they come." Evan moved to his feet. Shaded his eyes with a raised hand to see. Rodney and Moira stood, watching as John led a team of marines across the field. The Jumper was parked nearby. "Sir." Evan led them to the hatch. John glanced at Moira. Hid his smirk seeing her dirty clothes. Finding her ubiquitous ponytail, her tan jacket, her green shirt and gray pants funny compared to her glorious nudity, her naked body writhing beneath his. Or squirming on top of his only hours earlier. "The whole field covers it," Evan was saying, "but we found only one ingress point."

"Scans indicate a low energy reading several feet below us, so I hope you brought equipment. Lunch?" Rodney asked.

John glanced at him. "MREs in the ship."

"MREs?" Rodney asked, disappointed.

"What? I'm not running a catering service," John snapped mildly. "Thompson, set the C4 at those two points. We need to open it gently, not cause a seismic quake."

"I'll go get them, Rodney," Moira offered, tearing his gaze from John. His green jacket over his black t-shirt. Green pants. TAC vest. Guns. A black wristband over his cut wrist which caught her eye, made her curious. She headed quickly for the ship. Entered. Moved past the equipment he had indeed brought.

"Moira."

She turned as he entered the Jumper. "There." He pointed. She opened a pack. Rifled through it. Suddenly nervous as they were alone together.

"There's nothing here, John, no...oh wait. A sandwich?" She produced a wrapped sandwich.

"For you. And me. And no, it's not a picnic," he warned, nearing her. Touched her arm. "Moira? Is everything all right?"

"Yes, John. I thanked Evan for–"

"What did he say? What did you–" he began, clearly upset. Annoyed.

"Hey! You said you only had MREs! What is that?" Rodney accused, pointing. "How come she gets actual food?"

John turned. Smiled. "Do I really have to answer that?"

"Here, Rodney." Moira handed him half of the sandwich. "But if John brought any chocolate I'm not sharing that."

Rodney scowled. "Fair enough." At John's look he stared. "What? What? Oh...right..." He shook his head. Left the Jumper.

John turned to her, about to speak when she tore the sandwich in half again. "Here. Thank you." She ate, grabbed a bottle of water. Sipped.

He ate his in quick bites. Downed some water. Pondered. "I do have chocolate for you."

She met his gaze. "Don't tease me, John."

He smiled. "It's in my pocket. You'll have to frisk me to find it." He held his arms out to his sides, as if inviting her. "As you can see I have several, several pockets. All over."

She smiled, then moved suddenly. "I should go see if they–"

"No." He caught her arm, spun her into his arms. Kissed her. "Moira, are you pissed at me?"

"No, John. I just...I just..."

"Damn it! See? I knew this was going to bother you! I didn't want this to hurt you, Moira. Damn! We have the perfect, perfect night together and now you are as skittish as a–"

She kissed him. "Shut up, John! Everything is fine."

"No, it isn't! You're too quiet, too aloof, too–" he started to complain.

An explosion broke the silence. The tension. She jumped, startled. He pulled her against him, instinctively shielding her although there was no need.

"It's just the C4, baby," he soothed. Kissing her brow. "Moira."

"I know that!" she snapped. But she hugged him. "John. I don't know what to do, John."

"That makes two of us, Moira," he agreed. "Wait. About what?" He waited, but she was silent. Stubborn. Holding onto him. He sighed. "Moira, talk to me. It's...um...not about last night, is it? I mean, I know we were going at it...well, we really went at it and if you are not–"

"No. Last night was perfect! Wonderful! Amazing!" she assured, voice against his chest. She straightened. "Sorry, John." She moved to sit. Looked away.

"Moira?" Bewildered he moved to his knees in front of her. Touched her thighs. "Sweetheart?" Her uncertainty, her sorrow threw him.

"I'm sorry. Give me a minute, would you?" she snapped. "I feel like I'm on a roller coaster here!"

"You and me both, Moira, although I prefer Ferris wheels. Did I–"

"No! It's not you! Don't you get that?" she snapped, angry. "Can't you wrap your pretty head around that? It's me! Me! You're wonderful, you're everything, you're fine!"

He debated. "Fuck. You know I'm not very good at these kinds of things. You're going to have to help me out here, okay? I'm sorry?"

She couldn't help but smile. At the apology formed as a question. At his bewilderment. His endearing attempts to help. She met his gaze. The worried expression on his handsome face. The half smile teasing his lips. "Do you really have that chocolate, colonel?"

He smiled. "Yes. I know better than to tease you about chocolate, doctor."

"Colonel Sheppard."

He caressed her thigh, stood. Moved to the ramp. "Yes?"

"It's opened, sir," Evan reported, glancing past him to see Moira who was moving to her feet. "The smoke's clearing. There's an access ladder leading down about twenty feet or so."

"Well, come on! Let's see what's down there!" Moira stated. Calmer. Collected. She moved past them, headed out of the ship. Evan followed. John shook his head, even more perplexed, and sprinted after them.


	6. Chapter 6

Adaptive Radiation6

John peered into the darkness. The hole extended for several feet. The access ladder was dusty. Curls of vines tangled round it but it appeared steady. "Thompson, check it out," he ordered.

"Yes, sir." The burly marine descended. All watched. "There's a tunnel, sir! About three feet, descending. Green."

"Green? Is that a code word?" Rodney asked.

"No, it's a color. Explain, lieutenant!" John shouted down the hole, standing next to Moira.

"Green light, sir! And a green moss...it's everywhere...weird..."

"Do you think it's the enzyme moss?" John asked, glancing at Moira.

She shrugged. "It's possible. But unlikely."

"Proceed with caution, lieutenant. Follow the tunnel and report. Rodney, are you getting any readings?"

"Yes. Some low energy pulse...if it is a ZPM it's nearly depleted," he sighed.

"Sir, I see a light...a console. Across a lake!"

"A lake? Any hostiles?" John asked.

"No, sir."

"Hold position." John considered. Picked absently at the scab on his lip a moment before lowering his hand. "Lorne, Stevens, keep watch here. Phillips, Larson, explore the grid for any other ingress points. Rodney, go down."

"Great, just great," he grumbled. "Did I ever mention how much I hate caves!" But his eyes lit up at the report of a console. He descended, muttering all the while.

"I'm next. Moira, after me."

"After..." she wondered, met his gaze. Scowled at his quick smile. "Fine," she groused.

John descended rapidly. The ladder swayed a little under his weight but was otherwise secure. He shone his light up to watch Moira descending. When she was halfway down he said quietly, "That's it, baby, swing that pert little ass for me."

"Shut up, sweetie," she retorted, reaching the bottom. "Damn it, John, can't you keep your eyes off my–"

"Pert little ass? Hell, no. Stay close." He led her up the tunnel. They stood with Rodney who had met up with Thompson. Staring.

Across a glimmering green pool, wide and warm, was a console. Lights blinked. Amber flashes in the darkness. Several pieces of equipment were overturned. Dilapidated. The air tasted stale, dank. The stillness was heavy.

"Look at that! I bet no one has been here for over a thousand years!" Rodney enthused, eager to get his hands on the console. "Yet it is still operational!"

"This moss isn't the enzyme moss," Moira assured. "Still, it's odd to be growing here. Even those shafts of sunlight aren't really enough to produce enough illumination for photosynthesis. I'm no botanist but I don't think this kind of plant should be thriving here under any normal–"

"Anyway," John interjected, "that water is too wide and long to walk round. We'll have to wade across it."

"What? We have to walk into a lagoon?" Rodney asked.

"Lagoon?" John glanced at Moira. Sighed as she smiled, having the same thought. "Great. I swear if there's a gill man in those waters I am confining you to Atlantis."

"Gill man? What are you talking about?" asked Rodney as Thompson smiled.

"The gill man! _The Creature from the Black Lagoon!_ Oh come on, Rodney, you must have seen it! It's a classic horror movie! Black and white!"

"So what's really in there?" the scientist snapped, shaking his head.

"I'm sure there's nothing. Nothing but fish. Or snails. Or snakes. Maybe eels."

"Great," Rodney sighed.

"Thompson, take point. Rodney, then Moira. I'll take the six. Slow and steady. Be alert for any defenses on the other side."

"Yes, sir." Thompson stepped into the waters. The liquid gently lapped against his legs. "It's warm, sir!"

"Huh...must be a geothermal source...or spring under the rocks. Interesting." Rodney followed.

Moira glanced at John. "Na na NA," she intoned the movie's classic theme for the monster.

"Hilarious, Moira. Go." He smiled, followed her into the water. "Wow. That is warm!"

"We could set up a spa," Rodney quipped. "Atlantis's finest resort." Slowly they advanced. The ground beneath their feet was rocky but solid. The waters swirling with their steps. Rodney stopped. Yelped. "Something brushed my leg!"

"A fish, Rodney, relax," Moira soothed, staring down. The waters were mostly clear, a liquid emerald shade. Shafts of sunlight threw gold into the green glimmering waves. Schools of tiny white fish darted around their legs.

"There's a drop here, sir. Mind your feet," Thompson advised, holding his gun higher as the waters began to reach up past his hips as they waded deeper.

"John, look!" Moira pointed. Another school of fish threaded through them, around them. A quick flash of silver fins and scales. "Cave fish. Did you see? They don't have eyes. They don't need them in this environment."

"Does that mean everything will be blind down here?" he asked. Gaze scanning the other side. The cave walls.

"No. Only the organisms that never leave the cave complex. If there's an outlet to the sea all manner of organisms could infiltrate the biosphere. It's not an entirely closed environment."

"Another drop, sir. A big one," Thompson warned.

"Mind your feet, Rodney," John warned.

"Huh? Oh." Rodney stopped. Held up his scanner out of the waters as they abruptly rose to his waist. "Steady readings now, but nothing like the gun's control console. With any luck there will not be any ATA inhibiting factors."

Moira stepped after him, caught herself as the drop plunged her down. The water was up nearly to her breasts. "Damn," she muttered, "my candy bar is ruined for sure now."

"He did have chocolate?" Rodney asked. "That bastard!"

"Focus!" John chided, stepping after Moira. Water lapped past his waist. He held his P90 over his head. "We're halfway there. Let's hope this doesn't go any deeper."

"A little drop, here, sir...the ground feels eroded," Thompson remarked. Gun held high.

"What's that? Did you feel that?" Rodney asked, stopping yet again. The ground rumbled.

"That can't be good," John laconically noted. "Quickly, now, to the shore!" A loud splash made him turn, gun at the ready. He showered the light across the rippling waters.

"It's probably a fish," Moira insisted, looking over towards the sound.

John looked back. Thompson had reached the bank but was still in the water. Chest high.

"It's a climb, sir! Slick! There's no ground to gain leverage," Thompson informed. He clambered awkwardly up the slick mud. Another splash. Louder. A wake of the waters was moving towards them.

"Go, Rodney!" John urged, gun raised. "Thompson, cover!"

Moira turned to see the wake of water. Ripples moving steadily. Nothing else. "Don't shoot! Don't kill it! You can easily scare it away!" she instructed. She glanced to see Rodney scrambling up the bank, Thompson hauling him across the mud.

"Go!" John pushed Moira forward. She stumbled, reached the bank when a large wave rolled towards them. An enormous ripple in which a large creature could be seen.

"Down, sir!" Thompson called, about to fire.

John lunged towards Moira. He pushed her into the sloping bank, slamming her into it. He shoved his body against hers, covering as much as possible. "Shoot!"

"No! John, it's just a fish!" Moira argued, trying to move but John had her pinned.

"A big fish! Shoot, lieutenant!" John ordered.

Thompson fired. Bullets struck the water in a zig-zag pattern, chasing after the creature. John shoved against Moira, keeping her head down. She jerked, reacting to the loud noise that echoed across the cave. Her face pressed against her arm before she hit the rocks and mud, leaning somewhat as she shifted. But John was pressed tightly against her. Body lined up along her rear, her back.

"John...that had better be your sidearm," she warned softly.

"For now we'll say it is," he teased into her ear. Water splashed as the creature swam wide. Swam away. But turned.

"It's coming for a second pass!" Rodney warned, staring with wide eyes as the enormous fins breaking the water. The large, yellow eye gleaming in the flashlight's glow. The rows of teeth encased in the huge mouth.

"Thompson, shoot it now!" John ordered, ducking again, shifting roughly to cover Moira. Shots ran out, striking the water. The creature veered. John felt something brush past his legs. Submerge. Depart. "Hey, baby," he teased into her ear, "I think I found the right angle."

"Now's not the time, sweetie," she rebuked.

"Can't help it, baby. I do like you wet." As she elbowed him he stepped back, turned. Gun ready as he scanned the quieter waters.

"I think it's gone, sir."

"Did you hit it?" John asked, but got an answer as a scarlet bloom surfaced on the water. He turned back to the shore. "Go on, Moira." He grasped her rear, pushed as Rodney pulled her up the muddy incline.

She whirled. "John! You didn't have to kill it! It was just a fish!"

"A big fish," he retorted.

"With big teeth! I'm not kidding, Moira!" Rodney agreed.

John tossed his P90 onto the ground. Clambered up the bank as the men hauled him across the mud. He stood free. "Well, that was–" Something grabbed his ankles and he was yanked into the water. Submerged.

"John! John!" Moira cried.

"John! John!" Rodney shouted, nearly falling as he tried to catch him. Moira grabbed his arm before the scientist slid into the water.

"Sir! Colonel!" Thompson swept his gun's lights across the rippling waters. There was nothing to shoot. The waters calmed. There was nothing to see in the depths. No sign of John. No sounds. No struggling.

Their voices echoed eerily. Silence. They were holding their breath, waiting. The waters were still, serene. They stared. Aghast. Horrified. As one they exchanged glances, about to plunge in after him. Their feet slid on the muddy bank.

Suddenly John emerged, spluttering a few yards away. Knife in hand. He swam, clambered to them. Was hauled up the bank. He sat on the ground, drenched, coughing. Spitting water.

"John! John, are you all right?" Moira rushed to him, fell to his side.

Rodney glanced at the waters, then to his friend. "What was it?"

"I don't see anything, sir." Thompson stood ready, gun aimed on the water.

"That was no fish!" John declared, coughing. He spit out some water, coughed again. "That was no fucking fish!" he repeated, eying Moira. "It grabbed me with some, some appendage! Dropped me down!"

"Appendage?" she asked, rubbing his back as he coughed again.

"Yes! An arm, a flipper, a tentacle, I don't know! I was too busy trying not to drown at the time to gather specifics!" He wiped the blade of his knife on his pants. Sheathed it. Ran a hand through his wet hair, coughed again. "Thompson, McKay, check out the console. Be alert for any defenses, though."

"Yes, sir!"

"Don't touch anything!" Rodney warned. After a glance to be sure John was recovering he followed the marine to the equipment.

Moira touched his arm. "Are you sure you're okay?"

"That thing...it was big. Big! Long! But with–"

"Appendages, got it." She looked at the water. "It could have been anything. A serpent, a squid, an amphibian..."

"It had dead eyes, like a shark's," he added. Shuddered at the memory of the cold, damp, tight hold on his legs.

She met his gaze. Leaned close and quickly kissed him. "Hmm...John...you are hard to resist when you are wet. Soaked." She stood, pulled him to his feet. He grabbed his gun as she led him to the others.

"Anything?" John asked, glancing at the console.

"No. By no I mean yes. There's a low pulse. Like it's on standby. But I can locate the ZPM. It's either depleted or damaged. And no, don't touch anything!"

John studied the equipment. It was old. Slimed with moss and lichen. But reminiscent of systems in the city. He moved to check the perimeter. The cave was large. "Looks like something big moved through here." He walked around, stepping over the debris. The P90 a comforting weight in his arms.

"Maybe it was your lagoon buddy," Rodney quipped. He touched a pad. It hummed, then sputtered. "See? No danger. Little power. Odd." He knelt under the machine.

"Maybe something chewed through the wiring," Moira suggested.

John glanced at her. She was watching Rodney. Wiping the mud off her jacket, her legs. Water drenched most of her. John smiled. Recalled the feeling of being pressed up tightly behind her. But also recalled her odd mood in the Jumper. He sighed, continued to walk. To shine his light over rocks. Moss. A stray stalagmite crawling with slime.

"Got it." Rodney crawled out of the machine, ZPM in hand. "One dead, damaged ZPM. Wonderful," he groused. The lights blinked out. The humming ceased. Another splash made Moira whirl to stare at the water. Thompson had his gun trained on the lagoon.

John glanced over, circled. Froze.

Moira moved to the bank, stared at the water. "I don't see anything," she assured, glancing at the nervous lieutenant. She looked back, past the men. Stared as John was standing motionless. Still. Water dripped off his body. His gun was pointed downwards at an angle. Curious Moira neared, stepping round the debris. "John? What is it?"

"Moira, come here," he said, still not moving. "I think it's dead."

"What's dead?" She stepped next to him. Gasped.

The body of a Wraith sprawled among the rocks.


	7. Chapter 7

Adaptive Radiation7

The body was mostly intact. Reclining among the rocks, the ruins of pieces of equipment. Dessicate. Part of the skull was showing. Aged, off-white bone. The pointed teeth locked in a grimace. Long white hair tangled with seaweed. Tattered bits of material marked its clothing. Shades of dull gray, dull blue. Hands ending in bluish nails. Long and curving.

"I'm sure it's dead," Moira assured.

"Like you were sure that thing was just a fish?" he challenged. Nudged the body with his boot.

"A big fish," she corrected. "And the first one was."

"After the zombie Wraith you can't blame me for being extra cautious." He shot the body. It jerked with the impact. Bone cracked, splintered. Rodney yelped, whirling to see what had happened. Thompson glanced over his shoulder. "Stand down, Thompson, we're fine. Rodney, keep working."

Moira stepped past John. Knelt. "Keep an eye on it, just in case."

"Don't you worry, baby, I've got your six," he assured.

She glanced at him. He smiled. "Thanks, sweetie." She examined the body. "It's old. I mean, really old. Even by Wraith standards. In a remarkable state of preservation. But there's not enough tissue left to extract a sample." She picked up a long rock, used it to turn the arm. To see the palm of the hand. The sucker was prominent now that most the of the flesh had decayed. "The skin's all shriveled. But I don't think it starved. See those marks on the neck? Something attacked it."

"Come away, Moira." John had seen enough. Had dismissed it since the thing was not a threat.

She stood. Stepped back from it. "John?"

He touched her arm, moved her behind him. Eyed the walls. The rocks were covered in moss. Lichen. Slime. "That thing...in the water..it had incredible strength. Maybe suckers..."

"Like tentacles? Like an octopus or a squid?" she reasoned.

"Not tentacles," he said quietly. Trying to remember details.

She stared as he turned to meet her gaze. "You...you think..." She glanced at the water. "I suppose...the enzyme could conceivably transform any species...even an aquatic one..." She considered. Frowned. "But this isn't the moss. And there's no other catalyst. Unless...adaptive radiation! The divergence of an ancestral stock into forms or species for distinct lifestyles and ecological niches! Of course! There are no Iratus bugs here but something else could have evolved to fill the same niche, an aquatic subspecies, if you will...or early experimentation. You're talking about a biochemical adaptive radiation, a leap from the primordial waters...the ecological pressures of the geothermal waters tempered by–"

He shrugged. "It was just a thought. Look at it again. It looks...different."

She eyed the body. Studied it. "Yes...the hands...the claws are long. The fingers...webbed!"

"Gill man," he simply stated. "Sort of."

"Fascinating! An aquatic subspecies! Do you know what this means?"

"It means we may be in deep shit, that's what it means." He led her back to the console. "Rodney, are we done here?"

He popped up from the ground. "Done here? I haven't even started! I think I can render this operational! Even without the ZPM there's a whole morass of conduits and wire like primitive technology! Tied into the geothermal conductor! It's been damaged but I can fix it. Do you know what this means?"

"Yes, it means we could be in even more deep shit. No. We need to get out of here. Where's Thompson?" John asked, suddenly noticing the absence of the marine.

"Over there," Rodney waved his hand absently in one direction. "I can get this running, John! Maybe even repair the gunnery stations! We could have this whole system to defend us!"

"Hell, no. No one can control it. It's too risky. Thompson!" he called. "Stay here." He headed towards the water. "Thompson!"

"Rodney, is there any Wraith tech?"

"Wraith?" Rodney asked, meeting Moira's gaze. "No! Why would you ask that?"

"We found a Wraith. A dead one. An abnormal specimen."

"A Wraith? Down here?" Rodney stood. He looked round. "Where's Sheppard?"

Moira looked round. They were alone. The only sounds the gentle lapping of the waters. "John? John!" she called.

*************************************************************************

John followed a rapidly descending tunnel, seeing a flashing light from a P90. He tried to slow his stride. Boots slipping on slime and moss. "Thompson! Thompson, hold position! That's an order!"

"Sir! You have to see this!" Thompson's voice sounded elated. Awed.

John found his footsteps rapidly sliding as the descent sharpened. He skidded to a run, emerged into another chamber. Thompson stood nearby. The chamber was full of green water. A curious ambient glow glimmered from the slimy walls and rocks. Things were swimming in the waters. Long, indistinct bodies of pale, pale white. Just below the surface. Undulating. The waters were rippling wildly. Almost hypnotic in their flow.

"Could be mermaids, sir."

"I highly doubt that, lieutenant," John commented. Yet watched as the shapes dove, swam in a dizzying flow of water and waves. He wondered if one would surface. Hearing a voice he looked back towards the tunnel. Moira's voice. Calling. "Moira!" he shouted.

"They're female, sir! Look! Breasts!"

John's head swung round in time to see a glimpse. A pair of very female, very human breasts before the shape submerged. Was swallowed by the green waters. "I'll be..." he muttered.

"Told you, sir. Mermaids..." Thompson said, rapt. Gun held loosely at his side.

The shapes flowed. Long hair or seaweed undulating across their faces. Across shapely forms of pale, pale skin. A brief glimpse of a face, covered by hair or seaweed. A jutting pair of breasts. Then a waist. Then submerging.

***************************************************************************

"Over here, Rodney!" Moira headed past the debris. "I think I heard him. John! John!" she called. Her voice echoed across the rocks.

"Where the hell did they go?" Rodney asked, following her. He glanced at the water hearing another splash.

"I don't know. There must be another tunnel or something." Moira guided him along the water's edge. Slipping in the mud but keeping her footing. "There! See that?"

Rodney glanced up to see an opening in the far wall. A glow of green on the rocks. "There? Why would they go there?"

"I don't know, but let's find out. John!" she called again.

***************************************************************************

Thompson whistled as another briefly reached the surface of the water to display female anatomy. Breasts. Hips. A very naked crotch before diving back under the waves.

John blinked, stunned. Surprised. "Son of a...what the hell are they?" he wondered. Could have sworn he glimpsed a sucker or two on their long limbs, but the green light and water obscured details. But not every detail.

"John! John, are you there?" Moira shouted. Staring down the tunnel. She could hear water splashing.

John jerked, as if awakening. He glanced towards the tunnel. "Moira? Moira, here!"

"We don't need her, sir," Thompson stated. He stepped closer to the water.

"Easy, lieutenant, we don't know what those things are," John cautioned. But stepped closer.

"What are they doing down there?" Rodney wondered.

Moira shrugged. "I have no idea. Come on. Be careful. It looks slick." They descended, trying to slow their progress. "John! John, we're coming! John?" She sped up, unable to stop as the sharp descent, the slick ground caused her to nearly slide down the tunnel. Rodney was at her back, nearly crashing into her as he too struggled against the slippery surface. Moira skidded, slipped and tripped. Banged into John's back. "Ugh!"

John was literally knocked from his reverie. He whirled, catching himself before he fell. Catching her. "Moira? Moira." Embarrassment engulfed him. He swallowed. "I..."

"Whoa, whoa, incoming!" Rodney skidded but held his footing. Veering to the side and managing to stop before he plummeted. "What is going on down here? Did you find something? Another console or a conduit or a oh my God..." Rodney stared, mouth open.

"John?" Moira wondered at his embarrassment. If she didn't know any better she could have sworn he was blushing. She moved past him, stared. "What the..."

The forms undulated, churning the green waters. Arching provocatively. Displaying white, white skin. Hair or seaweed or both covering their faces. Bare breasts jutting. Hips thrusting. Opening legs revealing all. Rear ends round and plump.

Moira caught John's arm before he could step closer. "No! Rodney!" She caught Rodney's arm. "Thompson! Don't! Don't! They're not human!"

Thompson looked at her. His face serene. A dazed gleam in his eyes. "So? They're close enough. Tits and ass and everything female. What are they?"

"I don't know but it can't be good! No! No!" She pulled as the men stepped forward, dragging her towards the bank. "Rodney! Use your brain! These aren't what you think! They are Wraith! Wraith!"

"Wha..." Rodney blinked, eyed her. "Wraith?"

"John! John!" She released Rodney's arm as he stumbled back in alarm. She moved in front of John. "John!" She grabbed his arms, shook him. He seemed to awaken.

"Moira? You..." She kissed him. Hard. Purposefully crushing his cut lip. He pulled back. "Ow! What the fuck was...Moira?"

"John, wake up!"

"Moira..." His gaze swept over her, as if trying to see past her clothes.

"Men!" she fumed. Shoved him up the bank. Whirled. Thompson was stepping into the water. "No! Thompson, no! Get back!" She ran, grabbed his arm.

"Let go!" He whirled. Backhanded her across the face.

Moira spun with the blow. Fell hard into the mud and rocks.

"Moira!" John ran to her. "You fucking son of a bitch!" He drew his 9mm in one fluid motion. At the same time he grabbed Moira into a seated position away from the water.

"Thompson, no!" Rodney shouted.

But Thompson waded into the lagoon. The forms surrounded him. Circling. Circling. Sliding up along his body. Water churned. Foamed with a frenzy.

"Thompson! Stand down!" John ordered, as Moira moved. Scooting up against him to keep her feet out of the water.

Suddenly Thompson was pulled under the water. A splash. Silence. The waters calmed. Then Thompson shot upwards, crashing to the surface. His look of rapture replaced with horror. A silent scream as he was pulled under again. Sucker marks lining his face and neck in red. He shot up once more, desperate, screaming audible now. Half of his face shredded. Blood pouring in a crimson, messy glob.

Moira gasped, clutching John's arm around her waist as one of the females slithered next to Thompson. Her face revealed as a mix of Wraith and amphibian. Monstrous. She submerged, pulling the hapless marine with her.

John fired. Kept firing. But the waters became still. Empty. John kept shooting until he was out of bullets. The silence was heavy. John relaxed his grip on the gun. His grip on Moira. She exhaled, breathed easier, relaxing her hold on his arm. He holstered his gun. "Moira?" He turned her face to his. Touched her scarlet cheek, jaw. He stood, pulled her with him. "Rodney?"

Rodney was still staring. Frozen in place. "What, what, what the hell were those...those things? Wraith?" he stammered.

"Don't you think Wraith chicks are hot?" John asked, teasing, but he uneasily glanced at the waters. He grabbed his neglected P90 from the mud as he led Moira to Rodney.

"Moira, were those Wraith?" Rodney asked, ignoring the gibe. Still rattled.

She shrugged. Caught hold of John's arm. "Maybe. Another mutation...from an aquatic species of the Iratus bug and, and humans..." She shivered. "Are you two okay?"

"Yes...just rattled...I ...we were mesmerized..."

She scoffed. "Of course. Men. A naked woman and you forget everything else."

"Not everything," John noted. His arm slipping around her waist. "It was like we couldn't look away...I mean...even when we wanted to..."

"It must be a psychic thing...they have those mind powers, you know..." Rodney agreed. Both men desperate to explain away their fascination, their voyeurism. Embarrassment.

"Oh, spare me!" Moira scoffed. "Men!" She looked back at the water. White shapes were moving again. "Shit. We need to get out of here. Now! You two especially." She shoved. "Rodney! John! Go!"

"Huh? Oh yeah, yeah...go..." Rodney began climbing up the tunnel.

John turned back, hearing splashes. Hearing what he could have sworn were giggles. Seeing their naked bodies. Dripping wet.

"John!" She moved to block his view. "Focus!" She grabbed his hand, shoved it onto a breast.

"Moira? Moira..." he smiled, eyes lowering. He caressed, squeezed the wet, clingy fabric enfolding her curves.

"Better. Now go!" She shoved him towards the tunnel. He turned, climbed.

Moira turned back. The figures swam, cavorted. Hissed. Pain flowed in her head. Seemingly out of no where. She staggered, hit the cave wall. "No! No, it won't work on me! No!" Moira stepped into the tunnel, but another wave made her moan. Slide. Slip. Fall backwards.

John caught her. "Moira? Hold on, honey!" He glanced past her. Saw them. Their wet, naked bodies. Their hair covering their faces again. A weird stroking in his mind but he drew Moira against him. Helping her up the tunnel. "Moira, Moira, come on...I've got you."

"John, John...don't look! Don't you dare look!" She staggered next to him.

"I've got you, baby. Only you..." he assured, eyes on her as she regained her footing. He led her up the tunnel.

"John! Moira!" Rodney called.

"Here, Rodney! Damn!" John pulled Moira out of the tunnel. He touched his brow. "Headache?"

"Me too," Rodney grimaced. Rubbed his temples. "Moira?"

"Yeah, a little. Bitches."

John smiled. "See? It wasn't just us being, um, men. Let's get out of here. No, we need to seal that tunnel first." He glowered, thought of Thompson. "You two, go over to that console."

"John? You–"

"I'm fine, Moira." He opened his TAC vest, produced some C4. "Never leave home without it." He moved to the tunnel entrance. Set it across the rocks. "Major Lorne, copy?"

"Colonel Sheppard? We heard gunfire! Do you–" Evan's anxious voice crackled on the radio.

"Negative! Hold position. We're coming out!" He set the timer. Moved to them. Led them to the water. "See anything?"

Moira stared. Moved to the edge. "No."

"Rodney, go. Moira next. I'll take the six. Go fast!"

"You don't have to tell me twice!" Rodney slid down the bank, into the water.

Moira followed. "John?"

"Right on your pert little six, baby," he assured.

Quickly they waded through the waters. Rising now instead of falling.

"Something's coming!" Rodney warned, his voice punctuated by splashes. "Several somethings!"

"Then move your ass, Rodney!" John urged, gun ready. "Moira, you don't mind if I kill these, do you?"

"Have at it, John," she assured. Pushed Rodney. "Go! Go!" Waves of water hit them. Something swam past her legs. "A fish! A big fish!"

"Right, right!" Rodney agreed, hurrying. He stumbled. "My leg! Something–"

"No!" Moira grabbed his arm, pulled. "Go! Go! John, John, why aren't you firing? John!"

She turned awkwardly, trying to push Rodney at the same time. She froze.

John was surrounded by the Wraith.


	8. Chapter 8

Adaptive Radiation8

John was absolutely still. The waters calm at his waist, gently lapping his legs. Something was lapping against his rear. Tickling sensations but clammy. Women were rising out of the water. Long, pale white bodies. Naked. Water dripping from their limbs, their breasts. Their long hair of seaweed and slime. But they weren't human. They were Wraith. Clawed fingers stroked him. Touching him. Giggles created a soothing sensation in his head. His gun lowered.

"Shit! Rodney, move!" Moira shoved. Whirled, flung herself into the water. Submerging. She swam past an array of long legs. Surfaced and stood as the creatures hissed angrily, grabbing at her. She felt claws slashing at her wet clothes. She grabbed the P90. Whirled. Shot. "Fuck off!" she shouted. The bullets slammed into them. The Wraith shrieked. Falling. Falling into the water. Moira backed up into John. "Move, flyboy! Move!"

John jerked out of the spell, backed towards the muddy incline. Water receded. Clumsily he climbed up the slope. Feet slipping on the slime. Moira fired again, backing up in front of him. Nearly falling with the gun's recoil.

"Rodney! Get him out of the water!"

Rodney pulled John to a quicker pace. Moira followed, gun ready. Light shining on the still water. Nothing moved. "Okay, Moira! We're clear!"

"You're sure?"

"Yes!"

"Moira? Moira, what the...Moira!" John yanked free. Slid to grab her, haul her out of the water. "What the hell are you doing?" he flared, only now noticing the gun in her hands.

"Saving that fine, fine ass of yours!" She thrust the gun into his hands. "Here! Lead us out! Now!" She pushed him.

He turned. "Rodney, go!"

"Go, John! I've got your six!"

"You better, baby," he teased. They ran down the tunnel. Paused at the ladder. Sunlight streamed down from the opening in the ground. "Moira–"

"Hell, no! John, you go first! Then Rodney! Go!"

"You heard her, John, go!" Rodney agreed.

John swore. Glanced past them to the tunnel. The cave. Turned and climbed. Rodney followed. Moira turned, hearing a keening sound. It tickled her ears. Reverberated in her head.

"Moira! Moira, now!" John shouted.

She turned, climbed the ladder. John grabbed her arm, helped her out. "The C4. Do it."

"Wait! We can't just destroy the console! All that Ancient tech! I can get it running, I swear! And those women! The women–"

"They weren't women, Rodney!" Moira argued. "They were Wraith!"

"Wraith?" Evan exclaimed. "What happened down there? Sir? Where's Thompson?"

"He didn't make it." John was staring at Moira. She was soaked, dripping wet. Dirty but determined. Insistent. "Fire in the–"

"No! You can't kill them!" Rodney objected, but John flipped the switch on his control. A boom. A series of booms shook the ground.

"Sir? Moira?" Evan looked at them. Hefted his gun just in case.

"They were hideous, Evan!" she exclaimed.

"They were beautiful," Rodney remembered.

"They were an aquatic subspecies. They killed Thompson! Lured him to his death," she continued, ignoring Rodney's wistful expression.

"They were sirens," John agreed. His gaze was locked on Moira. Like an anchor.

"Yes. Exactly, John," she nodded. "It was horrible..." She met John's gaze, stared. His intense stare caught her. Water dripped from him. Sparkled in his hair. His brilliant green eyes seemed to smoulder, to devour her. With an effort she looked at Evan. "We should get back to Atlantis. John and Rodney need to be checked out. Those things were emitting some kind of, of weird–"

"Spell...but I feel fine now," Rodney objected.

"Your brain chemistry may have been altered, trust me. John?"

"Moira...Moira's right," he agreed, catching himself, his tone. He eyed the men. "Let's go. The farther away from that lair the better."

**********************************************************************

"Well?" John asked impatiently. Swinging his legs over the side of the bed. He glanced at Rodney who appeared equally impatient.

"Just a second, colonel," Carson admonished. Peering into the microscope. "All right."

"All right what? Can we go now? I'd like a bite to eat before the debrief...and something for this headache."

"I'll second that," John agreed. "With a beer. Make that two."

"No." Moira eyed them. She moved to Carson. "No drinking. The last thing we need is another drunken revelry. Carson?"

"You heard her, lads. One beer, that's all. Your brain chemistry has been altered. But it's returning to normal. There's an increase in hormonal glandular functions...but not as extreme as the enzyme. There's nothing in your systems. No toxins. No enzymes. Nothing like that."

"So you're saying it's all in our minds, along with this headache," Rodney opined.

"Along with other areas," Moira quipped. John smiled, eyes on her. Carson laughed.

"Aye, that as well. I'll give you something for the headache. Then you need to eat something. Lay down for an hour."

"You better make it more than aspirin," Rodney complained. Rubbing his temples. "Something stronger."

"I will, Rodney. Moira, stay here. I want to hear about this subspecies."

"The women, you mean?" Rodney asked. "We can tell you, Carson. Moira will just muck it up. She was jealous, you know. Because those beautiful, naked women were swarming around John like bees around a flower."

"They weren't women, Rodney! They were monsters! Horrible, pallid subspecies of Wraith! They wanted you as food, not as mates!" she corrected angrily.

"But you couldn't tell that, at first," Rodney argued. "Their faces were covered. All you could see was–"

"Everything...everything," John agreed, but shook himself out of the memories. Moira glared at him.

"Everything, every pale, wet....floating–"

"Enough! Their main problem, Carson, is that they are male!" Moira fumed.

Carson laughed. "Aye, I can see that. But whatever psychic call these sirens had impacted their brains and endorphin glands."

"Whatever," she muttered, shaking her head.

"Go on, off with you both. Here." Carson handed them two vials. "Two pills each after you eat. One beer each. No more. Understood? Then go lay down for an hour. Your head should be clear by then."

"Fine," Rodney grumbled. Snatched the vial. "Coming?"

John took the vial, stood. Lingered as he watched Moira. "Um, Moira? Are you–"

"I need her here, John. Go."

He frowned. Passed. Paused. Touched the small of her back. "Catch up to me later, Moira."

"Whatever, John," she muttered, moving to the microscope. Once they had gone she sighed.

"Men."

Carson smiled. "You can't blame them for being men, Moira. Now, tell me everything about these creatures. I assume you believe they may have evolved from an aquatic form of the Iratus bug?"

She nodded. "Yes. It's the only thing that makes sense. The weird thing is they were even more like, like fish. A school swimming in the water. All female. That in itself is highly unusual, isn't it?"

"Very," he agreed.

"I'm thinking it may have been yet another experiment. By the Ancients. Maybe some scientist wanted to create his own harem down there, I don't know. They were perverts, you know."

John laughed. Moira whirled as Carson turned. "It's true," John endorsed, lounging in the doorway. "They like to watch. Don't they, Moira?"

"John! Go!"

Laughing again he acquiesced. Left.

"What was that about?"

"Nothing, Carson. I was rambling." Moira turned to hide her blush, her discomfort. "Let's get to work. There was some blood on John's knife. But I don't know if he cut one of them or something else."

***********************************************************************

John moaned. He laid on his bed after a hot shower. Reclined in a worn gray t-shirt and gray running pants. Feet bare. Dangling over the edge of his bed. He was lost in a wild dream. A very erotic dream. Of pale, pale women swimming. Long hair draped over their faces. Full breasts undulating in the green waters. Hips jutting naked crotches and rears in the air. A symphony of moans and sighs urging him. Calling him. Arousing him. But then his mind turned to Moira. Their passionate encounters. Their night of continual orgasmic sex. The vision of her naked body, long hair flying as he took her over and over. The feel of her body under him. On him. The taste of her breasts, her scar. Her wetness, tightness catching him, holding him. Her moans, her whimpers. The cries of his name.

He groaned as the pallid women stroked. Fondled him. Dripping wet. Water pouring off their hair, their hard nipples, their oddly pale, hairless crotches. Hands stroking. Claws shredding his clothing. Scratching along his skin. Mouthing his cock. Taking it all in, sucking every bit of moisture from him. But suddenly it was Moira. Her mouth on him, her naked body writhing, swerving as she lowered her head. Sucked him off. Taking all of him into her mouth. Closing over him. Then it was the Wraith woman. Her teeth biting, clamping down.

"John? John!"

He woke abruptly, heart racing. Slipped his hand down to be sure he was all there. Smirked at his reaction to the vivid dreams. Groaned at the stimulation. The tension of his arousal. Moira calling his name over and over. Her long, sharp cry of his name last night.

"John! John, are you all right?" Moira knocked again. "The door's locked! John!"

He shook his head, hearing her voice outside his door. Outside his head, not inside. "Yeah! Um...I...um...just a sec!" He slipped off the bed, arranging his pants to try to hide his arousal. But it was all too evident. So close to coming every step was agony. Every brush of the cloth recalling the dream of velvety, rough tongues.

"John? It's been almost an hour!" she called. Worried. She knocked again. Hit his chest as the door opened. "Oh! Sorry, John! You–"

He pulled her into the room, closed the door. "Moira."

She touched his shoulder. Saw the tension in his body. "John? Are you all right?"

"No."

"No? Do I need to get Carson?"

"No." He turned, pulled her against him. Kissed her passionately, mouth opening her lips to his questing tongue. Gliding into her mouth. She murmured, squirming. "That's not my fucking sidearm, baby," he said into her ear. Voice gruff.

Moira pushed him back. Brown eyes widening as she glanced down. The large bulge in his pants. "John? How...you...oh ew! You dreamed of those things, didn't you?" she accused. Moved away, shaking her head.

He smiled. Stepped to the bed. Laid back on it and groaned. "Yes. And you, Moira. Lots of you and me...and you..."

"And them. How's your head?"

"Which one?" he quipped, laughed at her disgusted look. "Hey, baby, I really need your help now."

"Hilarious, John. The debrief is in twenty so–"

"I can't go like this, baby." He shifted. "God...what a dream."

"I don't want to know. Shut up, John!"

"Moira, please...I need you to–"

"To what, John? Get you off?" She smirked. Sat on the bed. Touched his thigh. "Is that what you want, John?" She leaned down to gently kiss him. "To get you off? To ease the burden of command?"

He smiled, reached to caress a breast. "Yeah, baby. That's it exactly."

"We're not having sex, sweetie. There isn't time."

"Moira, just five, no ten–"

"No, John." She kissed him again. Moved out of his reach. Stroked his thigh.

He groaned. "Moira, don't you tease me like that."

"Or what, John? You'll come in your pants again? You'll come all over your bed? You'll lose control?"

"Yes," he admitted tersely. Shifting. "Baby, please...this is such agony..."

"Sweetie, please..." She smiled. Touched him. He jerked under her hand. "That must have been some dream, soldier. You are hard as a rock."

"It was...oh God it was.."

"Spare me the details," she advised. Feeling her body reacting to his. To his arousal, his need. To his deliciously unkempt appearance. His handsome features, form. She sighed. "John...John Sheppard..." She stroked along his pants. "The things I have to do for you," she complained. She slid her hand into his boxers.

He groaned as she began to caress. Stroking as he sprang eagerly towards her. He shifted, shifted. Straining. Hands grasping the blankets under him. "Ah...baby, baby..."

"Sweetie, hush..." she chastised. Catching a firm hold.

"Skin."

"What?" She met his gaze, startled.

He licked his lips. "I need skin. Skin...wet...wet tongue...I need you to go down on me, baby."

"John..." she warned, gaze narrowing.

"Seriously, Moira. The dream...the..whatever you can do, honey. I need...I fucking need..."

She sighed. "You are obsessed with this, you know that?"

'The dream," he insisted. "They all went–"

"I don't want to know!"

"You...you went...took my–"

"Shut up, John!" She shifted and caressed. Up and down. Slowly slid the fabric from him. Bent her head. Ran her mouth up against the fabric. John groaned, jerking. Exhaling in tension, arousal. Tension riding him hard.

"Skin," he said hoarsely.

She sighed. Gulped. Her mouth was dry. She churned some saliva. Ran her mouth along the fabric again to the top. Mouthed the head against the fabric. He jerked, thrust. Knocking into her mouth.

"Fuck! Fuck! Moira, Moira!" he growled ecstatically.

"John, shut up!" she cautioned, freeing him. Used her hand to stroke. Opened the boxers. Ran her tongue up the skin, up the hard, long shaft.

John groaned loudly, staring, in ecstasy. Coming in a rush. Moira swiftly straightened and grabbed him with her hand. Created a tight tunnel as he thrust, thrust. Spasm after spasm sent shudders up and down his body. "Moira! Oh God, Moira...my Moira...oh fuck fuck fuck!" he serenaded, a sexual litany as pleasure, release escalated. Exploded.

Moira smirked, looked away. Flustered as he repeatedly jerked in her hand, spurting copiously. Her body reacted, vivid arousal and wetness as the odd feelings in her hand amused her. Usually she felt those motions intimately when he came inside her. With a last, long groaning exhalation and thrust he fell back. Moira shook her head. Freed him. Leaned down and kissed him. Savoring his mouth, his tongue. "You're welcome, John." She rose and hastened to the bathroom.

John smiled, breathing deeply. Heard the water running, running. He lazily stretched, sated. Pleased. Impressed she had gone as far as she had. Wondered if he could get her to go further. Longed suddenly for her naked body. For full intercourse.

Moira scrubbed her hand, drank and spat to rinse her mouth. The salty taste of him lingered. She dried her hand. Cooled her hot, flushed face. Wide brown eyes stared back at her from the mirror. Her body was warm, receptive. She saw John in the mirror as he moved behind her. She whirled. "John! You son of a–"

He grabbed her. Pulled her into an embrace. A lengthy, lengthy kiss. He caressed her hair, her back. Her rear which he squeezed.

She broke free, turned to shut off the water. "John!"

"Moira." He pulled her against him again. Pressing her rear into him. "Oh baby...baby that was the most exquisite...do you know what you've done?"

She caught his hands as they slid across her waist. "Yes, John. I gave you a fucking hand job."

He laughed. "And I did what I, I could...to go down on you...oh just shut up, will you?"

He laughed again, kissed her throat. Hands sliding to cup her breasts. Then abruptly down to her crotch. To tease, to pry. "Ah...baby...so wet..so fucking wet now...so sweet..."

"Shut up, will you?" she flared. Elbowed him and moved out of the bathroom. "Damn it, John!"

He followed, amused. "I'll return the favor, baby, believe me. I'd like nothing better than to go down on you and suck that sweet, sweet–"

"No, John! Damn it, what is it with you? Why can't you be content with sex? Just normal sex? No, you have to explore, to push, to suggest all manner of kinky–"

He laughed, pulled her into his arms. "Yes." He kissed her. Slid his hand to shove between her legs. Aggressively caressing, plying the fabric. Using his knuckles to rub, rub. Making her murmur, whimper.

"Oh John...oh...no, no no!"

He kissed her again. "I want you. I want to bring you...you fucking need it, baby, I can tell. You've given me the best fucking hand–"

"Shut up, John!" She pushed him. "There isn't time! Now put on your uniform and get to the conference room! Now!" She kissed him, yielding. Melting to the pull, the press of his body. His magnetism. The raw desire flowing between them. She drew back, breathless. Aroused. "Damn it! Go! Go!" She whirled, fled the room.

John smiled. Wanting her. Pleased. Full of a rush of emotion for her. He sighed happily. Moved to get dressed.


	9. Chapter 9

Adaptive Radiation9

John sauntered into the conference room. Could not stop the swagger, the purely male satisfaction emanating from him. He sat near the head of the table. "Am I late?"

"A little," Elizabeth chided. "How do you feel?"

"Fine."

"Fine? I've still got that headache! Not as bad but still in my temples." Rodney rubbed his head. Glared at John. "Why is your headache gone? Why are you calm, collected, so...oh, oh...shit."

John merely smiled. Lounged back in his seat. "Where's–"

Evan entered. Smiled. "Sorry."

"All right. We're all here now. We can–"

"What about Moira?" Rodney spoke the words before John did. The two exchanged a glance. "Oh...let me guess...she is indisposed?" he taunted. John's gaze iced into a glare.

"She's working with Carson," Elizabeth informed. "They'll be here later. Now...tell me what happened on the mainland. And yes, I know all about the Wraith female subspecies. I want to know about the console. And the broken ZPM," she clarified as the men again exchanged a sheepish glance.

***********************************************************************

"Everything's here," Moira tapped the laptop. "But there's not much. The blood from John's knife was inconclusive. Too contaminated by the water to yield any viable DNA sample. I don't see why I have to–"

"Because you were there, love," Carson informed. "Elizabeth might have a question other than what you've reported. Come on."

She sighed, followed Carson to the conference room. He knocked, opened the door. "Sorry. Are we late?"

"Right on time, Carson. Please," Elizabeth invited.

He entered, moved to sit next to Rodney. Moira followed, sat next to him further down the table. Glanced at John who was watching her. A half smile on his lips. She opened her data pad, stared at it.

"I trust my patients are well?"

"He is." Rodney jerked a thumb towards John. "I'm not. I still have a headache."

"Oh. I'm sorry to hear that, Rodney. I'll give you some more pain killers. Something to help you sleep. Soundly."

"What? How did you..." Rodney blurted, then coughed to cover his embarrassment. Glanced at John. "Did you, er, oh you...you..." He glanced at Moira who was studiously studying the blank screen of her data pad.

"Are you certain the cave is sealed?" Elizabeth asked. Trying not to smile at the obvious subject not being mentioned.

"Yes," John answered, after glancing a warning to his friend. "The C4 should have completely sealed the lower cavern. In effect trapping the, the...creatures. And for good measure we sealed the hatch as well."

"Losing all that Ancient tech," Rodney mourned.

"It was necessary," Moira noted softly.

"So you say..." Rodney grumbled.

"Rodney," John quietly chided. A warning.

"Very well. You two can go now. I'd like to discuss this further with Carson and Moira and Evan."

"Us? Why would you dismiss me?" Rodney asked, outraged. "We were there! We saw those, those women...things...women..."

"Exactly my point," Elizabeth stated. "Go."

"Elizabeth, really!" Rodney stood. "Whatever effects those women...things...women had on me are gone. Long gone! I can discuss them rationally, without any emotional attributes or–"

"What about physical?" interjected Carson.

"What? What? No...I am not... I didn't even...no!"

"All the same, Rodney, go. Please." Elizabeth's voice was soft. Soothing. Concealing her amusement.

"Fine! I'll go get dinner!"

"I'm fine, Elizabeth. I can handle it," John assured.

"Oh yeah, listen to him! Even the Wraith women flock around him! Mr. Military!" Rodney snapped. "You know, Sheppard, if Moira hadn't have saved you you'd still be down there! You'd be nothing more than, than fish food!"

"I know, Rodney," John agreed. Glanced warmly at Moira.

"John?"

"Wha...what? Sorry..." He tore his gaze from Moira. From the memory of the fantastic sexual release she had give him.

"Go. Now."

John sighed. "Fine. Dinner sounds good." He followed Rodney. Paused by Moira. He touched her shoulder. Ran his hand along her back before departing. A caress. Not too subtle.

Moira smiled at the screen.

"I need a threat assessment from rational minds," Elizabeth noted. "Moira, are those things that dangerous? Moira?"

"What? Oh..." She pulled her thoughts from John. His ecstatic pleasure. The promise of returning the favor. "Yes. Extremely dangerous. Especially to males." She glanced at Evan, Carson. "Even intelligent ones," she smirked. "Apart from their physical, um, charms? Which frankly I couldn't see but well...anyway, their mental powers are more dangerous. I tried to pull Thompson back from the water but he fought me."

"How did you save Rodney and John?"

"I had to shock them out of it. I told Rodney they were Wraith. That broke the spell."

"And John?"

"When Thompson fought me. He smacked me to the ground. That broke the hold on John. He fired repeatedly at them but the bullets had little effect." She glossed over the hard kiss she had given him. The thrusting of her breast into his hand.

"I see. It's a good thing you did. Theories?" Elizabeth asked.

Carson shrugged. "That's all we have, I'm afraid. An aquatic subspecies of the Iratus bug evolving with human DNA into those...sirens. A possible experiment gone wrong...because oddly they were all female."

"Aquatic? Naked women swimming in a cave?" Evan tried to imagine it.

"Wraith, Evan," Moira corrected. "An aquatic species...adaptive radiation. With definitive amphibian characteristics. Such as webbed fingers. Webbed feet."

"Interesting. Carson, will there be any long term effects?"

"No. A few sleepless nights...a few, er, physical reactions..." A laugh emitted. "Yes, poor lads. And a headache or two. Just to be sure I'll monitor their scans and blood. Keep them in the city for a few days."

"With the cave collapse there's no way those things made it to the open sea, is there?" Evan asked.

Moira shrugged. "I don't know. There could have been an egress point from the cave to the open waters," she theorized, using John's lingo, "but I don't think they would survive for long in the ocean. Different water. Different environment. They looked like they had evolved for life in the lagoons and caves. Dark, dank light. Warm thermal springs."

"Well, that's a relief. Thank you."

***********************************************************************

Moira trudged to her room. Unsettled. She had grabbed a bite to eat. John had not been there. She entered her room, paused after closing the door. She smiled, nearing the bed. A single red rose lay near the pillows surrounded by chocolate bars. She looked over as John walked out of the bathroom. "John."

He held up a hand. "Just so you know, this is not any romantic gesture. I owed you a candy bar. So I gave you several."

"Okay. But the rose?"

"Well..." he shrugged. "You like roses, right? And after what you did for me, to me...oh Moira, it was the best fucking hand–"

"Shut up, John! And thank you." She set the flower in water. Gathered the chocolate bars and placed them on the table. She felt him move behind her. Touch her hair. Free the long strands from her ponytail. Run his fingers through it. A soft sigh escaped her lips.

"Moira. I want to–"

"No, John."

"No?"

She turned to him. "I know exactly what you want. You want to bring me slowly, savoring every kiss, every touch. Every part of my body as you move down, down, down...you want to go down on me, don't you?"

He smiled. "Repeatedly, baby. I want to give you the same orgasmic rush I had."

"No, John..." She sighed, longing evident. Need. She wanted to surrender, to be swept away in the tides of passion, of sex, of love.

"Moira?" He touched her cheek. "Sweetheart...I'll do whatever you want. Anything you desire. Anything you need. Sweet and slow, or full fucking throttle. Don't deny me. Or yourself."

Her gaze was full of love, of passion. "Oh John...John!" She flung herself into him. Kissing him. "Your lip–"

"Don't care," he refuted between kisses.

Moira's body thrummed. With need. With desire. She wanted him. Wanted all of him. To do everything to her. With her. To do whatever he wanted, but she found herself shy. Unable to articulate. Abashed at his earlier enjoyment. Noise. "We...we have to be quiet," she urged. A whimper escaping her lips as his mouth trailed down her throat.

"Impossible," he replied. "I want you loud. I want to love every part of you, Moira."

She smirked. "No you don't, John. You want sex."

He smiled. "Yes, baby."

"You want to fuck me, sweetie."

"Oh yes, yes, baby...I want you."

"Then take me, John...take me," she decided.

Moira was lost in a swirl. Kiss after kiss, probing. Pulling. Removing their clothes in record time. Undressing each other. Rapid, caressing motions. As if they hadn't been together for weeks, months. The yearning inexplicable. The need growing, screaming.

She found herself on the bed, gasping, arching as he slathered kisses on her mouth, throat, breasts. Teasing nipples. Sucking. Hands exploring. Licking her scar until she moaned, arched helplessly. Fingers tangled in his hair until he moved lower. Helpless as he kissed up her inner thigh, shoving her legs apart. She arched up on her rear as he persisted.

"Moira...my Moira...are you tight?" he teased. Reveling in the desire, the need.

"Yes, John," she gasped.

"You are so fucking wet..." he groaned. Long fingers probing. "Do you want me–"

"Oh yes, John!" she enthused, squirming at his touch.

"To stop?" he finished, grinned.

She caught her breath, fingers grabbing at his shoulders. "No! John, no!"

"Do you want me to bring you? In this way?"

"I...I..." she whimpered, weak with need.

"You know the safe word, baby. Say it and I'll stop," he promised, voice hoarse. Eyes raking over her body.

"Sweetie, oh–"

He slid up, kissed her mouth deeply. Traveled down again, tongue gliding on her skin. Teasing. Tormenting. She writhed, arched. Moving as he slid lower, lower. Ruthlessly thrust his mouth between her legs. Searching with expert precision, sucking until she cried out loudly. Her litany of his name loud, wild as he aggressively thrust her to climax. Her orgasm a shudder. She clawed at him, crying out as pleasure throbbed. Ceaseless.

He freed her. Sat and then thrust inside her. In and out, rocking them, the bed. He moved her onto her back as she was half sitting. Her legs splayed, knees bent. Going deeply, faster. Quicker as his cock demanded release. He groaned. "Moira! Ah Moira, that's it, baby! Fuck me, fuck me!"

Moira gasped, coming yet again, pulling him closer, pulling him into her. Amazed he would fit as hard, as big as he was. "John! Oh John, oh John! Sweetie!"

"Not during sex!" he reminded her in a grunt. The bed rocking crazily now as their bodies almost violently joined, joined. Rushing to the climax. The last, long shudder. The bed rattling again. Slamming into the wall with each thrust. Faster. Faster still. His groans, her cries growing louder. Louder. Something smashed to the floor as the vibrations rocked the table.

"Moira! Moira, are you all right?" came an anxious voice outside the door.

Moira gasped, a straining scream caught in her throat. She froze. Awkwardly angled on the bed, half sitting, half reclining. Legs splayed wide. John on top of her, deeply inside her, halted by the voice as well, but his body released anyway. He groaned, quieting as he collapsed on her. Coming in a harsh shiver.

Moira? Moira, answer the door! Moira!" came the woman's voice again. The knocking louder, more insistent.

"You better answer her before she barges in here," John muttered breathlessly. Hid his face in the tangle of her hair, on the softness of her breasts. Slid out to make her whimper.

"I...I'm fine!" Moira called. Blushing. She shoved John. "Move!" she hissed.

He quietly laughed, rolled off her and sighed happily. "Ah, fuck!"

"Ssh!"

"Moira! Moira, I want to see you! Come to the door! What is going on in there?"

"You better humor her," John said, biting back laughter that threatened to engulf him.

"It's not funny! Damn it, John!" She glared at him, at the door. "Okay! I'm fine, really!" She scrambled off the bed, yanked on a pale green nightshirt that fell to her knees. Tossed her wild hair back behind her shoulders and moved to the door. She glanced back to see John snuggling under the blankets, a grin on his handsome face. Moira cursed silently. Opened the door. "Maggie, look...I...I'm sorry...I...um..."

The older woman looked her up and down. "Are you sure, dear? What was all that noise? It sounded like an earthquake...and I heard something break...and you–"

"I'm fine, really, I'm fine..." Moira stammered, blushing furiously. Shifting her stance as pleasure echoed in her lower body. Trickles teasing her thighs.

"She's fine. More than fine, actually."

Moira froze at John's voice. Watched in sheer dread as Maggie Richards looked past her. Her blue eyes widened. Moira glanced over her shoulder. John was sitting up in the bed, mostly covered by the blankets but still revealing his bare chest.

John smiled. Raised a hand. "Hi."

"Colonel Sheppard? You...you...oh..." Comprehension dawned. Explanations clicked and now the wild concert of sounds made sense to Maggie. She met Moira's aghast gaze as the younger woman looked back at her. "I'm sorry...Moira, I should have realized...well, I mean..." Embarrassment.

Moira tried to swallow but her throat was dry. "I...I'm fine. I...um..."

"We'll try to be quieter from now on," John offered helpfully, a smug smirk on his face. "But I can't promise anything."

"John!" Moira flared, glanced back at him.

"I'm sorry, Moira...I never realized you were...um...goodnight." Maggie smiled, trying not to laugh and returned to her room.

Moira closed the door. Face hot. Body tense. She stared at the door. Frozen. Until she heard John's uproarious laughter.

John couldn't hold in his hilarity any longer. He burst into laughter, shaking with it. He laid back finally, wiped his eyes. "Ah fuck! Moira...Moira...come here, baby."

Moira turned. Advanced to the bed. Flustered and furious. "You bastard! You fucking, arrogant bastard!"

John laughed again. "I always wondered who was in the room next to yours," he noted.

"Fuck you!"

He laughed again. Until a boot clipped his shoulder. "Hey!"

"Get out! Now!" she ordered. Throwing his clothes at him. Not caring if she hit him or not. "Get out now! You fucking bastard! This is all your fault!"

"Yeah, I know. Get that pert little ass back here, baby," he said. Tossing his clothes back to the floor. He had no intention of leaving. "Come on, Moira." He patted the bed. "You are so fucking hot when you are angry and upset..."

"Shut up!" But she sighed. Slid in next to him. Hit his chest. "Damn it, John! Damn it! We can't do this anymore! We have to be quiet! We have to be–"

"Fuck no. We're fine. Come here, Moira, it's all right," he soothed. Trying not to laugh again.

"Can we help it if we enjoy it? Loudly? Repeatedly? It doesn't matter, Moira. Not anymore. I love bringing you like that, baby...fuck, I love bringing me like that. Wasn't it spectacular? Admit it, Moira...it was amazing. Worth the interruption, wasn't it?"

Moira nestled in his arms, hiding her hot face against his chest. He rolled so she was under him again. As if he could bodily shield her from the embarrassment, the unease. "John..." she whispered, whimpered. She stroked his back. Held onto him. Body relaxing under his. Responding yet again to the memory of the intense sex. "Oh John."

He smiled, hearing her astonishment, her pleasure. "Moira. Damn. You're not angry, are you? I mean about the sex."

"No, John...never..."she gushed. "But damn! You, you...we...we can't be that loud," she whispered.

"Damn..." He grinned. "Ah baby, I think we have to be. That loud. At least you do. Think back to how loud we've been before tonight...fuck...who is in the room next to yours? They must never sleep. Maggie something? Poor woman."

"Maggie Richards. Sweetie, shut up," she scolded mildly. Caught her breath. She closed her legs, feeling his fingers sliding the nightshirt up to her thighs. "I...I shouldn't let you do that to me. Not like, like that."

"Why not? What is your hangup with oral sex anyway? Moira?"

"I...I don't know..." She blushed as he eyed her. The darkness hid some but not all of her body. Her chagrin. "You make me too loud!"

He laughed. "Sorry. You can trust me, Moira. I won't hurt you."

"I know. I do trust you, John. And I know you're not sorry."

"I know you've let me do what no other man has, haven't you?"

"Yes."

"You know...you can do anything with me. To me. Whatever. You can even tie me up if you want to."

"Hilarious, John."

He laughed. "I'm just saying...any kind of fantasy, or idea, or desire. I'm open to whatever."

"Gee, I never would have figured that out, John. Not with your kinky stuff."

"Hilarious, Moira."

She rolled, moved into his arms. Kissed him. Snuggled. "Let's go to sleep. I'm exhausted."

"Me too, baby. But happy. You?"

"Happy," she agreed. Kissed him again. "Shit. How the hell am I going to face her in the morning?" she bemoaned.

"With a smile, Moira. A big, sated, so fucking satisfied smile," he teased.

"Shut up, John! It's not funny!"

"Yes, it is, baby."

"You wouldn't think so if it had been John Anderson," she countered, meeting his gaze as he rolled onto his side, held her close.

"No...that would not have been funny," he agreed. "But this was. This Maggie...she's not the kind to kiss and tell, is she?"

"No...I don't think so."

"Then don't worry, Moira. It doesn't matter anyway. Go to sleep." He kissed her brow. Stroked her back, soothing. Trying not to laugh.

"It's not funny, John!" she scolded, sensing his amusement. She sighed. "Damn it."

"Sorry." He closed his eyes. "Fuck, I'm tired. Go to sleep."

"John?"

"Hmm?"

"Don't you dare dream about those Wraith female creatures."

"Okay. Only you, baby. But if I wake up with a hard-on you will take care of it for me."

She laughed. "Of course, sweetie. As always."

"Damn right," he agreed. Laughed suddenly. "Poor Rodney. He didn't have anyone to, um, help his predicament."

"You are lucky to have me, then, aren't you, colonel?"

"Don't I know it, doctor," he agreed. Added, "Hey, who is in the room on the other side of yours? Maybe we can impress them as well."

"Shut up, John!" she scolded, but he laughed.


	10. Chapter 10

Adaptive Radiation10

"No, no, no, no, no!" Rodney's negative assertions came fast and furious as he pointed at the movie screen. "That is completely incorrect! There's no way those aqua lungs, which are, of course air tanks would even get to those depths, let alone last that long!"

"Enough analysis already!" Moira snapped. Shook her head. "Just sit back and enjoy the movie! Do you want me to go on about the biological impossibility of a gill man that somehow survived the Devonian period? Not to mention that the Devonian was not merely one hundred fifty million years ago, but more like three hundred fifty million years ago and–"

"No!" Evan glanced back at the pair seated behind him. "For God's sake, no! Just watch the movie, please! This is why I don't watch movies with scientists!"

"And why on Earth aren't they wearing wet suits? Do they have any idea what is swimming in the Amazon? Apart from the piranhas and other–"

"It's set in nineteen fifty-four, Rodney, so go easy on them," Moira chided.

"Ha! I like that line! I'm a scientist not a fortune teller! I should use that on John next time he demands an immediate answer to an impossible question," Rodney noted with a smile.

"Quiet in the back!" Evan chided, turning to glare at them. He resumed watching the film as the two scientists fell silent.

"I'm out of popcorn," Rodney pouted, eying the empty bowl he held.

"I still haven't had any," Moira noted, causing Evan to laugh.

"Back in a sec." Rodney stood, moved down the row of seats to re-fill his bowl.

Moira sighed. Watched the black and white horror movie. She smirked. Leaned towards Evan. "You know, Evan, the funny thing is that evolution could have taken a weird turn like that and produced an amphibian bi-pedal creature like–"

"Shut up, Moira," Evan scolded mildly. "Watch the movie. That's an order from your team leader."

She laughed. "Yes, major. Come on, Rodney!" she called. "I want some popcorn!"

"And why wasn't I told it was movie night?" John plopped into the seat next to Moira, vacated by Rodney. He held a bowl of popcorn, met her gaze with a mock glare.

"It's for Rodney. Since he's never seen _Creature From the Black Lagoon._ Where have you been?"

"Busy. Had to write up the final report. On Thompson. The condolence letter to his family."

Moira's gaze softened. She touched John's arm in sympathy. "I'm sorry."

"Me too." He sipped a beer, set it aside. "Here." He shared some popcorn. Watched the movie.

"Now that's just cheesy," he noted. "Bringing the girl seaweed."

"It's the thought that counts," she chided, glancing at him. He met her gaze, rolled his eyes. She smiled back a laugh.

"Hey! That's my seat!" Rodney pointed with one hand. The other clutching a bowl of popcorn to his chest.

"Not any more,"John smiled, glancing at him.

"Will you move? That's my seat!"

"No. You can sit somewhere else."

"But Moira said–"

"I'm sharing my popcorn with Moira, so you can keep yours."

"But Moira said–"

"Boys! Rodney, sit there." Moira pointed to a seat further along.

"Fine." Rodney stepped past them, deliberately bumping into John. Popcorn spilled. He stepped past Moira and sat in the next chair. "Now I can't see past Lorne."

"I'll scrunch down," Evan offered.

Moira grabbed a handful of popcorn. Eyed John. He was staring at the screen. A strangely serious expression on his handsome face. She considered. Eyed the flickering images of the movie. "You see, Rodney...they made it without any trouble."

"Of course, since the whole principle is flawed," Rodney opined, just as she had hoped. "I mean, look, I know it was the nineteen fifties and all, but really, to survive at those depths with those primitive calculations...no way."

"That spear gun is cool," Evan noted with a sigh.

"But not tactically sound," John said, joining in with the critique. "They should have used a smaller weapon with more firepower. Although I do like the harpoon. It's got enough of a kick-back even in the water to do some serious damage."

"Typical," Rodney noted round a mouthful of popcorn. "The hero scientist wants to study it in its natural environment, but the soldier guy wants to kill it."

"No, he wants to capture it," Evan corrected. "What a lousy shot!"

"Should have aimed lower, for the gut, or higher for the throat," John agreed, munching on some popcorn. "Damn that's a big camera!"

"I'm so glad we have smaller camcorders now," Moira agreed.

"Yeah! Dead or alive, what's the difference?" John agreed. "They'd still have the specimen and clearly it's a menace to society."

"What society? They are in the freaking Amazon! Typical," Rodney snorted. "Right, Moira?"

"Yes, Rodney," she agreed, glanced at John. "Although not always."

John met her gaze, nodded.

"Finally! A rifle, sir," Evan noted.

"About time. What faulty tactics. They are all guarding one side of the ship! But at least they are all armed now...even the girl." He smirked as Moira kicked John's chair.

"This is why I don't watch movies with soldiers," she rejoined.

"Oh, see! The hero scientist wants to gather more data, but soldier guy just wants to leave."

"Obviously, Rodney," John disagreed. "There's no need to hang around any more. They have the creature. Objective achieved. They should move the target to a more secure location."

"Should they? Without the environmental factors it's still just a mysterious anomaly taken out of context."

"You'd prefer to hang around there, isolated? While it picks them off one by one?"

"It only wants the girl. What is it with girls and monsters? Moira?"

"Huh?" Moira had been trying to watch the film, trying to ignore the two men's bickering. "I don't know, Rodney. Beautiful women like that always attract the monsters, I guess."

"She can sure rock that bathing suit," Evan commented. Laughed as Moira kicked his chair.

"What? I'm just saying," he attempted to ameliorate.

"Ah! That's the music, the theme you were doing in the cave!" Rodney realized with a smile. "I get it now!"

"About time," John scoffed. "Don't they have horror movies in Canada?"

"I thought the horror was actually living in Canada, sir," Evan dryly noted. The men laughed.

"Oh, ha ha," Rodney snarled. "Shut up and watch the movie!"

"That actress is hot. She can really work that checkered shirt," Evan said.

"Yeah, you got that right," John agreed, glanced at Moira. "Hey, Moira, do you own a–"

"No, John." She kept her gaze on the movie. Ate some popcorn.

He smirked. Ate some popcorn. Drank some beer. Scooted a little closer to her so his thigh brushed against hers. All comments ceased as the final minutes of the movie played. All were seemingly engrossed in the last climatic struggle between monster and hero. The choice between killing it or letting it go. The final scene played as the creature sank to the bottom of the lagoon, seemingly lifeless. The DVD stopped. For a moment silence filled the room. Until Rodney spoke at last.

"You know, despite the glaring scientific improbabilities and of course the whole ridiculous premise that movie wasn't half bad. The best part was that the hero was the scientist, and he got the girl!"

"Does that mean he liked it?" Evan asked.

Moira smiled. "There are two sequels, Rodney. Contrary to that last scene the creature survived. Shall we schedule them for the next movie night?"

"Yes. I'd like that, Moira."

"Maybe you could bring Katie next time too," she slyly suggested.

"Oh. I...no. I mean, I don't think she likes horror films."

"But these are classics, Rodney! You must invite her to the next one. Please." Moira waited until the room had cleared. She collected her DVD from the machine. Slipped it back into its plastic case. Turned. John was still sitting in the chair, finishing his beer. She walked over to him, waited until he had set down the empty bottle. She touched his shoulder. "John. Do you want to talk about it?"

He met her gaze. "No. Unless you mean the movie."

"No. Are you sure?"

"Yes." He licked his lips. Scowled at the scab.

"I'm sorry." Her fingers caressed. "It must be hard...I mean...figuring out what to say..."

"Yeah. It's not like I can tell them their son was lured to his death by some aquatic subspecies of Wraith, naked females who didn't want to fuck him just eat him. Yeah...it's not easy."

"Sorry." She winced at his bitter tone. "John...you...come to bed."

"To bed? You mean to–"

"No. I mean to bed." She took his hand. Tugged.

He frowned, but stood. Let her lead him to her room. "It never gets easier, Moira. That part of the job," he informed her. Watching as she placed the DVD on the table.

"It shouldn't," she remarked. "But you mustn't blame yourself."

He made a disbelieving sound. Moved to sit on the bed. Watched her cross to the window to look out on the night. "It's my responsibility, Moira. All of this. These people." He paused. "You. You..." he broke off, eyed his hands.

"I'm sorry, John," she repeated. Still staring out the window. "I tried to stop him. But he wouldn't listen to me. He was in their thrall. I tried to stop him."

"It's not your fault, Moira. Come to bed," he invited. Deciding.

She stared out the window. The city lights gleaming on the dark ocean. She touched the glass. Heard the rustle of clothing as he undressed. "John? How...how..."

"How what?" He fingered his boxers, debating. Eying her as she stood so still. The long fall of her ponytail snaking down her back. The city lights from the window throwing her shadow behind her to elongate towards him. "Moira?" Deciding he removed them, slipped under the covers. The comfort of the bed enfolded him.

Moira sighed. She switched off the lights. Moved to the bathroom. Emerged a few minutes later in a pale lilac nightshirt. She slipped under the blankets next to John. "John...how do...oh!" She froze as her body encountered his. The only thing separating them the thin material of her nightshirt.

He briefly grinned. "Yeah...are you sure you don't want to have sex, baby?"

"John!" She sighed. Kissed him. "Not now."

"Oh. How?" he prompted, arm encircling her as she nestled next to him.

"Nothing," she relented. But her fingers played across his chest. Along his chest hair. To touch the silver chain, the dog tags he wore. Cool metal against his warm skin. "John...how do you handle it?" she asked carefully.

He considered. Guessing her meaning but pretending otherwise. "Handle what, exactly?"

"The, the...when you lose someone." She moved to see his face. To see his expression. It was not a happy one.

"I don't know what you mean," he evaded. "I file the reports and write out the condolence letters. There's a standard form we use and I can add whatever declassified material I can to make it more...personal. And a full commendation to the–"

"No." She was serious. Brown eyes full of solemnity. "How do you handle it? When you lose someone...I mean...in the, in the line of duty compared to, to other, um..."

"How do you?" he countered. Gaze narrowing. "Let's not talk about this, Moira. I'm fine, okay? Let's either go to sleep or have sex. But no more talking."

"John, I..." She sighed. "Sorry. I'm just saying, I'm trying to say if you ever wanted to talk about it I know how it feels to, to...okay?"

"You do? How would you know how it feels? Moira, you have no fucking idea how it feels! How I feel!" he flared, angry. Paused, seeing her wince. A flash of guilt he felt echoed his own.

"Sorry. I just...how could you possibly know?"

"Never mind. Sorry." She drew away, turned onto her side to stare at the darkness. "Go to sleep, John."

"Okay," he relented. Curious, but not wanting to pry, to pursue. Not wanting to delve into his own past. He rubbed his eyes. Remained on his back. "We should have just had sex, Moira." He closed his eyes, trying to relax. Her words reverberating in his head. "We should have just had sex," he repeated, grumpy now. "I could sleep better if we had sex, you know. Helps me unwind...especially after that dismal duty. Moira, are you listening to me? You..." Something soft brushed his face. His cheek. Across his lips. A scent of rose tickled his nose.

"John, will it stop you talking so I can get some sleep?" Moira teased into his ear. Warm breath caressing. Then her lips as she kissed in a circle to make him softly groan. He opened his eyes as she hit his nose with the rose he had given her. "Will it, sweetie?"

He smiled. "Absolutely, baby." He smiled further as he saw she had removed the nightshirt. She tossed the flower onto the table. Slid over his body. The delicious friction of naked, warm skin inviting. Arousing. She lightly kissed him. Ran her finger gingerly over his lower lip. "Your lip is bruised. You have to stop picking at the scab. I guess your luscious mouth is off-limits."

"Luscious?" he questioned, shifting under her. Feeling their bodies reacting. Needing.

"Yes. I will have to find some other mouth to kiss," she teased.

"I don't think so, baby." He touched her cheek, her jaw. Tangled his fingers in her billowing hair to pull her into a lengthy kiss. Until he frowned. "Ow!"

"See? Oh John..." she purred, feeling him becoming hard under her. Tense.

John smiled, stroked her back. "Moira...do you want to have sex now? Say yes."

"No, John." She kissed his mouth carefully, smirking at his pout. "I want to make love."

"Oh." He considered. Stroking her back, her hair. "I think I'd rather work on our positioning. Down in that cave I think I figured it out, baby. The way you need to stand for maximum affect. That pert little ass has to be just–"

"John! No. Not your kinky–"

"It's not kinky, baby. It's a turn-on," he countered.

She kissed him. "Whatever. Not now. What do you have against sex in this bed?"

He laughed. "Nothing. I just like to..."

"To what?" She shifted, moving to stare down at him. "Please, I would love to hear this. You like to do what, exactly? Well?"

He smiled. "It's kind of hard to concentrate with a naked woman on top of me."

"Hmm...yes, it's kind of hard...but it could be harder," she countered, sliding along him to make him moan. "Do tell. What does John Sheppard like to do? Besides having sex precluding a bed?"

"Whatever Moira O'Meara wants him to do...in or out of a bed. Or in the shower. Or in the Jumper. Or in a–"

"Hilarious, John. I get it! Wherever," she wryly noted.

He kissed her, pulling her down to him. "Yes, baby. Wherever. In different ways, times...places, positions..."

"I see," she sighed.

"Do you?" he retorted. "Ride me, Moira. Ride me hard." His hands slid down to her hips. Slid to squeeze her rear. "Bounce that pert little ass of yours, baby."

She squirmed, kissed him. Broke free before he could deepen the kiss. "No, John." She covered his mouth with her hand. "We have to stop this....this part. We have to let your lip heal."

"Don't care. Unless you don't want me to kiss you," he tested.

"I want you to kiss me, John. I can lose myself in just your sweet, seductive kisses," she gushed.

"And I can lose myself in those brown eyes, Moira...and the way you're moving right now."

She smiled, kissed his throat. "Love me, John...just love me. I want to feel you."

He rolled them abruptly. "I want to feel you too, sweetheart, but I want to work on that position later...your stance has to be adjusted just enough for me to–"

She laughed at his serious tone. "Fine, fine, colonel, you make it sound like a military campaign, like some army strategy to–"

"Whoa, whoa!" he paused, hand on her inner thigh. Met her gaze. "Air force, baby. Don't you ever confuse the two."

"Whatever, John, just–" she ignored, pulling him closer but he paused.

"Whatever? I don't think you've grasped the magnitude of your error, Moira. That's like...that's like me calling you a botanist, a geologist, a veterinarian, whatever."

She smiled. "Oh. Okay, John. Sorry. Let me rescind that last comment, sweetie...and distract you with this." She opened her legs, lifting to invite. Murmured softly in his ear. Hands stroking his back.

He smiled. "Ah...that would do it, baby. Although I should spank you for that. That makes eight, doesn't it? Baby's gonna have a sore pert little ass after I finish with it."

"Hmm...sweetie, you keep promising to spank me but you haven't done a damn thing."

He stared at her assertion, her sly smile. She laughed at his surprise. "Really? Well, then–"

"Not now, colonel. Not when I'm expecting it. Now who is being predictable?" She gasped suddenly as he entered her, thrusting deeply to make her lose her breath.

"Were you expecting that, baby? Don't you worry, I will be spanking you...when I deem the time is right. And then I am going to take you against a wall until you scream my name so fucking loud that Maggie whomever will call the marines to save you."

"Hilarious, John!" She rocked with him, clutching but relaxed as he slowed, slowed, set a more moderate pace. Pleasure circling, circling. She smiled at the leisurely building of need, of release. "Promise, sweetie?"

He grinned. "Yes, baby. Now...lovemaking, was it? Sweet and slow."

"Oh John, oh John," she enthused, reveling in the sensual sensations, the intimacy. "I should tie you to the bed."

"Okay. Kinky in bed works for me too," he agreed, guiding their bodies towards the mutual enjoyment, the mutual climax.

Moira's hands ran along his arms, his back. Stroking. Feeling a strange vibe, an unsettling mood that she couldn't explain. Was almost afraid to analyze as the tenor of the lovemaking changed. Changed to a slower, more intimate joining. Full of tenderness and emotion that John wouldn't or even couldn't articulate. She felt tears. It felt like goodbye sex, and she swallowed a sob at the thought. Pulled him closer. Fingers unwilling to let him go.

John kissed her. Ran his mouth down her throat again, savoring every motion, every taste. Her body moving in perfect rhythm with his. Pleasure building, building. Savoring every little sound she made, as if he wouldn't be hearing her again. Savoring every feel of her, as if he wouldn't be locked in passion with her again. He shut down that part of his mind, the part that knew what he had to do, what he should do even if he didn't want to do it. Instead he lost himself in her. In her scent. In her love. In each long, slow kiss. Pretending it would last forever.


End file.
